Because You're Special
by Blindspotdagger
Summary: *Finished* "Something has been drawing us together for such a long time..." Sometimes strange, random, forgotten meetings are actually the work of something more like destiny.
1. Chapter 1

**Doctor Who**

Because You're Special

_Great Big Cowboy Idiot_

* * *

The Doctor muffled a cry, inching to the door of his war-battered blue box. Sometimes, he thought, using his stained hands to pull him to his feet and pushing back the heavy wooden door to tumble into the dark quiet of the TARDIS, sometimes, everyone dies… even him. The door clicked shut behind him, silencing the sounds of lingering carnage from beyond.

He was having trouble breathing now, the shrapnel from the Dalek's latest weapon making even the slightest movement unbearably painful. The Doctor bit back another sob, trying to maintain a brave front even though there was no one to see. The TARDIS whispered comfort but her voice was barely comprehensible, a murmuring distant in the fog of pain.

"To live to see such a day," He said softly, taking in another slow breath, "To live no more after."

It was tempting. To just die here. Moments after his people's destruction, seconds after the end of the Daleks… but he still had more life in him. Surely, something good could, would, must come after this day.

Somewhere with clear skies and smiling people. He struggled to the console, shuddering from cold, and ordered the TARDIS to earth.

Gallifrey was gone. He only had one home left.

He felt the burning from the inside of his hearts, the pounding inside his brain and finally let himself scream as he was enveloped in the gold of regeneration energy. The fire erased him, rippling over his body, and built a new form for his heavy mind.

The new Doctor gasped, dropping to the floor. He stared down at the new hands that had caught him from face-planting on the TARDIS decking. Slowly breathing, he shifted to allow one hand to travel to his side and check for injuries. He was healed but the holes in his clothing were still there.

The Doctor made it to his feet and flung back the TARDIS doors. The ship muttered a warning about exiting so soon after the trauma of regeneration but he callously reminded her who was master and left her worrying behind him. His human shoes, gifts from his American friend Grace, made soft imprints in the new snow. Everything in London, for that of course was where he landed, was covered in the clean white fluff and he breathed in deep. Clean. He wanted to feel that way too, to pick up handful of this pure substance and ram it into his eyes and purge them of all that he'd seen and fill his ears with the beautiful silence until all the screams and memories were voiceless and void. "New man," He laughed bitterly, reaching for a handful of earth snow to pack into a snowball, "same mind… hopeless case, I am."

Northern accent? Unexpected. But sort of nice… a nice change.

"Oh my god!" A shrill voice broke out, ruining the solitude. A human girl, dressed in a worn leather coat and oversized boots, raced to him. "It is blood, isn't it? Oh my god!"

"Eh now," he batted her hands away, still trying to adjust to the sound of his voice, "I'm fine. So you can take your grubby little hands…"

"And what?" The teen stared up at him defiantly.

"Shouldn't you be running off home?"

"Should you realize its Christmas—not Halloween? Scaring people out of their minds! Walking around like what… a butchered cowboy?" She flipped her perioxide-ruined hair over her shoulder, "Gah, I sound like my Mum."

"Oh I can imagine what she's like then…"

"Just because I can disrespect my mother doesn't mean any loon on the street can, cowboy!"

The Doctor glanced down and found only the tatters of his previous regeneration's favorite outfit. It wasn't completely western, but it certainly didn't match whatever era he was in now. And the blood and holes exposed much of his chest. He found himself slouching farther into his overcoat and then straightened… after all, the girl was watching.

"Don't suppose you know any clothes shops that are open at this time of night?"

"Christmas Eve?" The girl rubbed her gloveless hands together and stamped her feet. "We can take a walk down this street and see if Willy's is still open."

"Thanks. I can take it from here. I'm not a dumb ape, you know."

"Scrawny sour-faced dunce like you? You couldn't find your way out of a paper sack, cowboy." She snorted, and began walking, slow enough to keep pace with him.

The Doctor scanned his new companion—no, acquaintance—and noted the little things that mattered. Her hair, jacket and boots were all sort of rough and ill-fitting. Her earrings, slacks and tee-shirt were all well-tailored and upperclass. A runaway, the Doctor surmised, or something like it.

"Eyes!" She scowled at him.

"What?"

"I saw you, cowboy."

It took the Doctor a few seconds to follow her train of thought. But then he frowned back, "Rude little thing like you? Don't flatter yourself."

"I saw what I saw!" She shot back. "Look, he's open."

The girl pulled back the door, letting out a flood of warm light and traditional Christmas music. She held it for him, looking at him expectantly. "You're the one who needs clothes."

The Doctor stepped in, cursing his bad luck for running into the most irritating clingy child that humanity had ever bred. He eyed the small room and shouted back at the girl. "A leather shop?"

"Everyone needs a good jacket, is what my Dad says." She slung her hair back over her shoulder, tromping in with muddy boots and warming her hands over hissing waterpipes on a nearby wall. "Go on, cowboy. Look around!"

"I give the orders here!" The Doctor barked. He wavered, remembering orders given and received and the burning of his home. Never, he swore, never again. No more orders, no more guns, no more soldiers.

"You alright?" The girl's voice seemed less shrill.

"Mind your own business, stupid…" He walked away, muttering a list of unkind things one could say about humans in general. Ah, now that was interesting. It was a simple black leather coat, mid-length, with large side-pockets. Nothing silly about it, no question marks or bright gaudy colors. It matched how he felt. Depressed and angry and serious and…

"You gonna try it on or just ogle it, cowboy?"

"I'm shopping!" He whirled around, bellowing across the room.

The girl had perched on a counter; her ankles were crossed and she was flipping through some magazine, diverting her attention between him and the magazine. "I can see that. Shop a little faster."

"I'll shop at whatever speed I like!'

"I could have bought six shirts and three slacks in the time it took you to pick one jacket." She challenged, thumbing to another page.

"Humans!" He shoved his arms in the jacket, spinning on his heels in a wide circle. "Fine! I like it. Where's the idiot clerk…"

"I was just having a bit of eggnog…" said the bleary-eyed man, stumbling from some mysterious backroom. He unfolded his specs and stared at the register, leaning in closer and closer until his forehead touched the top of it. He named a price, somewhat high, and leaned back, almost far enough for his bald head to touch the shelves behind him.

The Doctor fished around in his pockets, bringing up string, a mangled paper bag that once held jelly-babies, an assortment of postage stamps and finally the correct amount.

"Do you normally carry all that in your pockets, cowboy?"

"Have I told you lately to beat it? Vamoose. See ya!" He turned to her, smiling sarcastically, "Off you go!"

"You think you scare me?" she scoffed, "You don't know anything about Do-"

"Don't care to."

"Fifty-two is your change." The egg-nog drugged cashier vanished again, nearly tripping over his own feet.

"Oi! We weren't done shopping yet!" The girl cried, leaving her perch. She sighed, fluffing her ridiculously dyed hair. "C'mon, sunshine, just because everyone needs a jacket doesn't mean they don't need things like… well, underwear…"

"I don't need your help!" He felt like a willful belligerent child. But really, some stupid stranger picking out his wardrobe took all the fun out of picking out a new set of clothes. And it was so… domestic!

"Tell me you wear underwear!" She stared up at him.

"Not telling." He sulked.

She shrugged as if it didn't matter either way and tossed a black garment at him. "Shirt!" She flung a package of socks, also black, at him. "Socks!" The girl's barrage ceased for a moment while she rummaged among hangers. Finally, she hurled a pair of jeans at him. He sputtered, pulling the heavy denim fabric from his face and rubbing at where it had slapped him.

"You nearly blinded me!"

"Great big cowboy idiot, that's what you are. They're jeans. Gah, stop acting like I'm throwing acid at your face!" She rolled her eyes.

"Where's eggnog boy…" The Doctor carted his armful back to the counter.

The cashier tottered to his post, "I was just having a bit of eggnog…"

"Knew that." The Doctor slammed the money on the counter, and hefted the bag into his arms. The girl reached for his jacket. "Give that here."

"I was just helping!"

"Stop helping. In fact, stop talking too. And to finish off, why don't you stop breathing?" He barked. Maybe that was bit too harsh but he didn't care. He had wanted to be out of the TARDIS and now, he only wanted to be inside it.

"There you are!" The door flung open. A rush of wintery air ruffled through the Doctor's clothes.

A tall clean-shaven teen, in some ridiculous baseball cap of many mottled neon colors, stomped in. He glared at the girl.

"Looking for me, have you? Well, you needn't have bothered." She darted out of reach of the newcomer, moving closer to the Doctor.

"Some girlfriend you are!" He cursed her, in an even more crude and vulgar way than the Doctor had and grabbed for her. He pulled her to him, twisting her arm behind her back, until she gritted her teeth.

"Hate to disrupt this lover's spat," The Doctor said, "but, see, I have this thing about bullies…"

The Doctor swung his shopping bag at the boy's head, the heavy jeans making a satisfying slap sound. He hooked the girl under his arm and half-carried her as he raced from the building. She twisted around, landing on her feet and ran next to him.

"Thanks, cowboy." She laughed, "Did you see that prawn's face?"

"You set me up." He glared at her. "For that, you get to carry my bag." He deposited the purchased items in her arms and rounded the corner until the TARDIS was in view. The girl nearly tripped into him, panting slightly.

"Oh alright." She admitted, her breath puffing into smoke, "I knew that idiot would never let me leave… But now that he thinks you're my boyfriend…"

"I'm ancient and you're a dumb conniving little idiot!"

"You look intimidating, scary even." She fidgeted in the cold. "He won't mess with me again. Coward deep down and all."

"Pick a stranger off the street to help you…? Where's your Dad?"

"Dad's wonderful, but he can't even stand up to my Mum. Couldn't tell Grandad… he'd have killed him." She blushed, rubbing at her nose, "Embarrassing too, you know?"

"No. I don't know. I don't do all that romance rubbish. And if you want my advice, you'll follow suit." "I just wanted someone to…" She laughed softly, sadly. "…who am I kidding? I'm just a dumb kid from Chisick."

"And don't you forget it." The Doctor lifted the bag from her arms. "Safest thing for you to do is to go home and call the cops if you see anything more of that boy."

She rubbed her nose, looking like a pathetic miserable little match-girl in the snow.

"Fine!" He opened the TARDIS doors, dumped his bag inside and locked it.

"You a cop?"

"No. Of course not."

"That's a police-box."

"Really? Hadn't noticed." The Doctor offered his arm. "Come on, earth girl. Your "boyfriend" will make sure you get home safe."

"I don't need your pity."

"Yes. You do. I don't bite children, now come on."

She took his arm, carefully, and they moved forward. The snow crunched and the ice crackled beneath them as they passed down the cold streets.

"Wasn't all bad, at first. He seemed like a really great guy."

"But he was an idiot." The Doctor finished, a sharp tone in his voice.

"Yeah." She pulled her coat collar closer around her neck. "Were you going to a party, then? Before I ran into you?"

"Oh yeah. Life of the party, that's me. Always striking of for new and greater dance trends, bowties, punchbowls. That sort of thing."

"Can't imagine you in a bowtie." And she giggled at him. "Or dancing."

He swung her around in a little circle there in the snow. "Took a whole class in it, when I was younger. The kids might have laughed at my five-year vision statement at the Academy but I could dance circles around every idiot schoolboy."

"All right, all right." She smiled, looking almost agreeable for the first time tonight. "You dance very well, Sunshine."

"Got all these hidden talents." He couldn't help bragging, "Ever tell you I can play a mean recorder?"

"I'm the fastest typer in my whole class."

"I can drink three gallon of carrot-juice in one sitting."

"Why on…? Well, I can paint all my nails without spilling a drop."

"There's a useful talent."

"Much more useful than that carrot thing."

"Ever saved the galaxy? Known universe? Unknown Universe? Cat in a tree?" He waited, "Gotcha."

"Fine." She sighed. "You can save the world with your recorder skills."

"… actually, that might have happened once… or twice…"

"That's my house up ahead." She pointed to a brick house. It looked warm, cheery, comfortable. If you liked that sort of thing. "My mum is going to kill me… Thanks. I don't even know your name…"

"No need to." He said cheerily, slipping away from her side. "Never see me again, I can guarantee it."

"I don't know, cowboy." She winked at him. "I might need saving again one day."

"If you're smart," He shouted as she ascended to her front door, "you'll keep out of trouble."

"What was that?"

"Keep. Out of. Trouble!"

"And here I thought you didn't care!"

"I don't!"

"Goodnight, sunshine."

"Goodnight, brat." He muttered under his breath, turning back to walk home. Amazingly, he realized, had gone a full half-hour without worrying about his problem, without remembering Gallifrey. The Doctor strode a bit faster. Maybe, just listening to someone, just wandering on earth with a human, would dim the memories. He just had to find someone less annoying…someone perfect… And a _real _blonde would be nice…

* * *

Author's Note: I had the idea that it would be fun to write Nine and Donna... just because they would not get along. The abusive boyfriend seemed to make sense due to Donna's experience with Lance and her general need to find "someone to listen" as she shouts at the world. This is just a brief thing I wrote late one night. I am thinking of more chapters, but it might stand on it's own.


	2. Chapter 2

**Doctor Who**

Because You're Special

_Little Gnome or a Penguin_

_

* * *

  
_

Donna Noble straightened a row of encyclopedias, scanning the titles to be sure they were all in the proper place. This library thing was a snap. She'd had one day of training and could find anything from the biography of Winston Churchhill to _Goodnight Moon_ within two minutes. Donna knew she'd tire of it soon, find another temp job, but for now, it was good.

"Oh dear, oh… Have I missed it?"

Donna turned to see a strange man, grandfatherly—if your grandfather liked fur and bowlcuts—wringing his hands in the main aisle.

"I really would hate to have… Oh my word! My soul!" The strange figure grasped a poster for one of those library entertainer specials. It was a tacky poster for a tacky performance. Billy Byson, Recorderist extraordinaire. "It's at one-thirty. Have you the time, my dear?"

"It's only one. Nice coat."

"You like it? Most people think it's a terrible ratted thing." He stroked his hands downward, smoothing the thick fur at his sides. He replaced the poster, and smiled at her. "And you are, my dear?"

"Donna."

"Lovely to meet you." He extended his pudgy wrinkled fingers for a shake. "I'm the Doctor."

"Doctor…" She prompted for a name.

"Just Doctor my dear." The Doctor, as he'd determined himself to be, twiddled his fingers together and then disentangled a recorder from his clothing. "I don't suppose they'll let me play for a bit."

"Nah. It's a library, can't play unless you're the entertainment. Won't even let me drum my fingers on the desktop. The head Librarian is like drill-sergeant of silence."

"I put on a clean bowtie, this morning. Straight is it?" He fiddled with the aforementioned item around his neck. "Oh dear. I hope I'm presentable."

"It's just a library concert, Doctor. It's not like he's Mozart." She found herself reaching over and straightening his tie, like she would her own grandfather's. He looked confused at the moment and such a kid, like a lonely little boy. Funny. How he could look so old and so young in that moment. "You all right?"

"My granddaughter…" He looked away. "She always used to make sure…"

"'s allright." Donna fought the urge to hug the old man. Perhaps he was one of those seniors you always heard about on the telly, alone in nursing homes with a rotten staff, forgotten human beings cast aside. He obviously didn't get out much if a clean bow-tie and a library concert was a major event. "Someone looking after you now?"

"Yes." He brightened, his dark eyes glowing warmly. "I've got traveling companions, friends. They're just not into my style of music."

"That's good, Doctor. Good that you've got someone. Seems like you need looking after."

He found that funny, chuckling and giggling like a little gnome. Shaking his head, he moved away. "You're quite mistaken, my dear. I am quite capable of…"

Tripping dramatically over a cart of books, he rolled gymnastically to his feet and grinned sheepishly. "…pulling myself up again. By the bootstraps, if necessary."

"…Well, can I help you find a book, Doctor, something to read, while you wait?" Donna offered, hoping to change the topic, since he seemed a bit embarrassed by his rather comical fall. He seemed all right though and she wasn't going to fuss over him and shame him.

"Oh… I've read everything… Except for one Agatha Christie mystery. But you wouldn't have it."

"I can check. She good?"

"Agatha Christie? She's brilliant! The best! Almost as legendary as Billy Byson! Oh my giddy aunt, have you never read her?"

"I haven't actually. Not much of a reader really." Her reading was pretty limited to entertainment mags in the Doctor's office and cheap drug-store romance novels. At one time, when she'd been young and stupid, dreaming of a real university degree, she'd read reams of literature, poems, epic novels, classic tales. But as her Mum said, they weren't going to land her a job or a man and she couldn't make heads or tails of the stories half-the-time anyway.

The little man grabbed her hand, dragging her into the bookcases. "Oh… perhaps you'd better lead the way. You do have a library card, don't you?"

* * *

"You coming in next week…? We've got a violinist on the schedule. Or a fiddler. What on earth is blue-grass anyway?" Donna asked conversationally to her little friend. He was still in a rapturous bliss after getting his recorder signed by Mr. Byson—or the Recorder Revolutionist, as the old man had termed him—and the content smile hadn't left the Doctor's face. Frankly, to Donna the whole poorly attended concert had been random toots and shrieks with a few bars of "O Danny Boy" tossed in.

"Bluegrass…to which planet's term are we referring?" The Doctor said absently, staring at the signature on his recorder. "On Microphi it's a form of wheat, on Rigumn it's a type of sapphire snake who is camaflouged as grass…"

Poor dear. He must have Alzeheimers. She'd suspected all along but it seemed incredibly sad. Her own gramps had a mind sharper than her mother's tongue and for her to watch him lose his mind would be devastating. She hoped, whatever happened to the Doctor's granddaughter, she had missed out on watching the Doctor's mind go.

"Never mind. You coming?"

"Next week?" He looked up, finally. "Oh, I shall have to check my day-planner. I think I lost it in Antarctica last month… But it was a lovely time, Donna," and he lifted her hand to kiss it, like some Victorian gentleman, "and have I mentioned you smell like destiny, my dear?"

"Uh…no, sweetheart…thanks."

"You're quite welcome. Well, off to the box!"

Yeah. Donna could think of several nursing homes that fit that brief description.

"Bye, Doctor. Be careful."

"As long as I don't run into Daleks, I'll be fine!" He moved toward the door, in his strange shambling walk and then turned. He bent and unbent his chubby fingers in farewell, reminding Donna, somehow of a quite adorable penguin. Then he was out the door, greeting some weird people on the library steps outside. Was one of them wearing a kilt? Blimey, she hoped his friends didn't encourage the madness, someone needed to be responsible for the old man.

"Donna!" The librarian sergeant whispered harshly, "What are all these mysteries doing on the checkout?"

"Oi, button it up bossy. They're mine." Donna reached for the stack of Agatha Christie's writings and smiled. "They were suggested to me by a friend."

* * *

Note: I am not a Second Doctor expert so... any suggestions to put this more into his character would be appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Doctor Who**

Because You're Special

_Biker-Boy _

* * *

Donna Noble pushed back the door to her favorite pub. It was surprisingly busy, considering it was Christmas Eve. A group laughed stupidly by the door, all of them dressed in revolting green and red or snow white and blue sweaters. She wrinkled her nose, threading her way through the merry idiots to perch at the bar.

"Anything, anything, bar-boy," she combed her red hair from her face, avoiding meeting the eyes of the bartender.

"Ginger."

"What?" She turned towards the voice, coming from a barstool at her left, raising her hand to give the arrogant little prawn a slap.

"Instant hostility, one of humanity's worst traits if you ask me." The man was wearing a dark outfit, all black and leather, like he was a scrawny biker. "But then, really, I set my expectations too high. Ever the optimist, that's me. Always disappointed. I think," and he lifted a shot glass to his mouth, and glanced at her, smirking in an oddly endearing and bizarre way, "maybe a few more of these and the whole picture will look a bit rosier… ah, Rose…"

"You snockered, mad or stupid?" Donna let her hand drop to the counter, fingers tracing the groove of her name she'd carved there years ago. Nearly had gotten her kicked out, but then again, she threatened to sue the living backside off him for failing to have a handicapped bathroom… and either her voice or her words were so convincing that she'd had no more trouble.

"One, maybe, two possible, three, never. I'm clever… not like those wooly apes at the door." He jabbed a finger at the sweater-wearing partyers. He turned his eyes to her hair, openly admiring it. "Always wanted to be ginger."

"Ever heard of hair dye?" She emphasized each word with sing-song sarcasm.

"Ever heard of genetically pure Gallifreyan hair follicles?"

"Oi, you always speak rubbish fluently?"

"You always ask so many questions?" He was smiling, not a completely happy smile, but rather the smirk of the arrogant, confident, irritating bloke that he was. Blimey, he thought he was so special, this skinny streak of nothing with dumbo ears.

"You always act like your hoarding the answers to life itself?"

He nearly choked on his drink, snorting with sudden laughter. "Sort of, yeah."

"Well," she said snidely, "I can believe _that_, sunshine."

"Sunshine?" He twirled on the barstool, long legs touching the floor. "Not quite as impressive a title as Lord of Time and Space…"

"Just cause," she reached for her drink, "you light up my life and all."

"Not just _your_ life." He noted, beaming with an almost alien satisfaction. "Rose thinks…" He stopped, looking incredibly broody and miserable and un-sunshine like.

"Thought'cha mean." Donna finished, motioning to the bartender. "Get Mr. Ego here another drink."

"Any woman in the galaxy would be proud to travel with me." The man announced, "You would, wouldn't you?"

"What's the pay?"

The man froze, staring at her with a look of incomprehension, as if she had said his mother was really a Tasmanian devil. Slowly, a wide goofy spread from enormous ear to enormous ear. "What's your name?"

"Donna." She spun her empty glass on the bar, keeping it from falling with the tip of one of her nails. "Isn't it a bit… I don't know, cliché?"

"Donna? Nope. Never hear that name anymore. Died out in the 50th century, Galaxy time, naturally-"

"No." She turned to face him, her brows furrowing. "I mean, you here. Drinking yourself to death over a long lost love. It's like writers went on strike and some substitute is writing your life story…."

"I don't believe in destiny. Besides, Rose isn't lost…like you could just _lose_ Rose Tyler…" He scoffed at the very idea, draining another glass, "It's just…"

"She doesn't fancy you anymore?"

The man almost winced at the sound of her voice or the question. He covered almost immediately by hunching his shoulders and staring mindlessly at the TV rolling with news and weather in the corner.

"We're not like that. We're… better than all that. All that… domesticity."

"Domesticity." Donna repeated, "You mean like "I'm gonna be with you forever and ever until the day I die" domesticity? Oi, yeah, anything's better than _that_!"

"You know, Donna," He turned suddenly, "shut it."

"Come again, biker-boy!" And Donna Noble readied herself to give the obnoxious drunk the slap of his life.

"I have to hear the telly." He sighed, probably at her stupidity, and turned his gaze at the TV. A second later, he had yanked a slender metal wand from his jacket and was bleeping the screen with a turquoise light. He met Donna's eyes for a second. "Uh, universal remote."

There was a woman in a scarlet suit with perfect short hair on, interviewing a chunky man with pale-white skin. There was something, plasticy and doll-like about his eyes. Bad contacts, Donna judged, also noting the peculiar redness of his gums. Orthodontist and Optomoligist is what he needed. The sound, now blaring over the carols and customer's voices, was unintelligible at first. Something about a new restaurant.

"Blimey, who'd wanna eat there? He looks like a pudgy vampire."

"Yup." The man in the jacket rose from the barstool, knocking back his last drink. He smiled down at her and for some reason, Donna couldn't breath. Something about him, and it was crazy, it really was, but when he looked at her, she felt this stirring inside like… like…she was something special.

"You coming?"

"Yeah." Donna's voice sounded husky to her and she babbled something about 'nothing better to do', flustered like she rarely was. She pulled her coat on tighter and stood to follow him.

He held out his hand. An odd gesture for a complete stranger.

"Come on now, Donna. Just because I have bigger teeth than a Radishom Mole doesn't mean I bite. 'Sides," And he grinned that crazy mad smile, "Lots of running to do."

"We're going to_ run_ to a restaurant?"

"A simple question like that and you turn it into the snidest sarcasm… And no, we're probably going to be running _from_ the restaurant. Ninety-eight and a half times out of a hundred that's how these things go."

"So now you're what? James Bond?"

"Sort of, yeah." And he waggled his long fingers at her.

"You're bonkers!" And she was too. Because she took his hand.


	4. Chapter 4

**Doctor Who**

Because You're Special

_James Bond_

_

* * *

_

"No way!" Donna hissed, sweat dripping from her forehead into her eyes. She ignored the poke in her ribs from her "James Bond" and his irritated glances and rapid motions for her to 'be quiet'. Donna leveled a look at him, equally irritated but also trying to express how troubling this all was.

She turned, from where she'd been peering into the rest of darkened kitchen from her hiding spot behind racks of flour, spices and vegetables. Donna let herself slip to the surprisingly clean floor—well considering the whole bloody business—and swallowed hard. Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes ago, she had been wrapped in a cocoon of trouble, prepared to drink until it seemed a more manageable size and now, she wondered if there was enough booze in the universe.

"I might just throw-up." Her voice sounded tiny to her ears.

"I might too. Heat, too much alcohol and cannibals do it to me every time. But deep calming breaths," He demonstrated, with a few exaggerated inhalations, and smiled crazily, "After all, wouldn't want to ruin you blouse, now would you?"

"So…" Donna's thoughts were not on her shirt. She was still thinking about what they found. And suddenly, it really hit her. She clapped her hand over her mouth, slick tears squeezing from the corners of her eyes to mingle with the sweat. "The meat in the freezer…"

"Fraid so." He was somber, but like most of his moods it lasted shorter than Donna's last temp-job. "Wonder how many vampire-zombie stories these blokes inspired?"

"It's not funny!" She almost shouted. All those poor people, dinning at this posh restaurant and being invited to give their compliments to the chef…and ending up gracing soup-pots instead. It was such an awful, awful thought that Donna didn't know what to think after it. It just sort of lingered in full cinematic color in her brain.

She wiped at her eyes, wondering at how she could be crying, shock and nauseated all at the same time. "Look, you must have spiked my drink. I mean, zombies running a five-star restaurant in the middle of London… eating people… It's gotta be drugs or something, right?"

"Deny all you want, Donna, but the proof is in the pudding. Or the freezer."

"Stop making jokes!" The sound of her palm contacting his cheek echoed through the kitchen. Donna's hands stung but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing that.

"What is it about you dumb apes in this time?" He glared at her, continuing to mutter but otherwise unaffected by the assault. "Or is it a deficiency in my presentation of myself that humans can think they can go about abusing this body?"

"Stop it, sunshine. Just stop it." Donna rubbed hard at her eyes, trying to either wake herself up from this nightmare or at least get her thoughts together. What was she supposed to do? She just wished someone would tell her because all she could think of was the people chattering away over candlelight in the front and the great big Ziplocs in the freezer filled with previous customers.

"Oi! We laugh or cry, we smile or we weep. Nothing's ever alright…but we pretend, huh? See this daft face?" He smiled, huge and boyish. "All pretend."

And then, the strange man pulled her into a hug. "Can you pretend for me, Donna? No more fussing or moaning, just pretend it's a James Bond adventure, eh? Just to get us through tonight?"

It was a funny night. A funny horrible night, and like he said, you either had to pick feelings of horror or humor. Donna just wanted to go home and crawl into bed and wake up like she had yesterday, content with the world. She hugged him back, fiercer, tighter than she would have in any other situation and released him. Her friend, or whatever he was, need her to pull it together or they might get the chance to run out of here.

"Yeah. Not much of an actress—couldn't even play a shrub in the school play—but yeah," she swallowed, "I'll try."

"Fantastic." He said quietly, without enthusiasm. "Let's go save the Universe..world…customers."

"Does this make me a Bond girl?"

"Typical human female, fishing for compliments." But he winked at her, as if encouraging her to keep playing along.

Like it was just a game. Like the credits and theme music were going to pop up any moment and people would leave the theater jazzed on adrenaline and Pepsi, and everything would be right in the world. Donna managed a sickly chuckle, gave a bit of a smile back and crawled forward to peer through the cabbage leaves in the rack again.

"Blimey wonder they didn't hear us."

"Room's insulated—sound proof—cause they do their harvesting here. Wouldn't do to disturb the other customers, now would it? Just nod as if you're keeping up. That's right! So, I'm going to go do some jiggery-pikery magic and you keep watch for those waiter-goons." His clear blue eyes, sparkling with joy, were bright in the dim lighting that sent shadows across the planes of his face. Such a mystery, this one. His smile wide, voice sincere, he stated, "No one messes with Donna, after all."

Any feelings of fear or wonder melted away into irritation. It wasn't right. It wasn't right how he got her into this mess and could, somehow, manipulate her. It smacked off something exploitative and she was about to let him know how she felt about that when there was a clatter of metal on the tiled floor.

The man took her hand in his, squeezing it once and began to move from their hiding spot.

A waiter as pale as his dress-shirt lifted a pan from the floor and raised empty glassy eyes to meet hers. It was like staring at death.

Donna forced a smile. "Donna, since you didn't ask earlier, Donna Noble. From the Chisick Nobles. I ordered a steak, medium rare. When it passed oh, an hour, and I still was waiting for it, I decided to lodge a complaint…"

"Just keep chatting…" Her friend said in a pleasant low tone. He was dragging a chair from the wall into the middle of the room.

What a chair was going to do to prevent them from being eaten, Donna couldn't fathom. But she kept babbling. "Seen the latest X-Factor?"

The waiter stared at her with a chillingly observant glance. His eyes skimmering up and down her, as if cataloging cuts of meat on her body. "No. If you would step over here, I will get the chef."

"No thanks. Rather chat with you, sunshine. Nice warm and friendly bloke like you and all."

"Lights up your life, does he Donna?" Her friend questioned, his head buried in some work up on the ceiling. Was that the sprinkler system? What was he up to… and was that his blue-light gizmo?

"So universal remotes work on sprinklers?" Donna frowned, noting that the waiter was inching forward, slipping a large gleaming knife from the tabletop and eyeing her with a craft vile look that most zombies weren't capable of.

A sputter of sound and water splashed downward. An alarm echoed through the building, and the waiter flinched.

"Witches?" Donna theorized.

"What?" Her friend hopped down from the chair, tucked away his remote-thing and grabbed her hand. Water droplets dropped from his long nose to splash on his boots.

"Water melts witches. At least it does for Judy Garland…"

The waiter lurched forward; powdery foundation-like skin was peeling away from his demonic face in great oozy strips. Beneath it was a mottled gray face, flushing black, filled with wrath, as he gazed at them. "A little rain will not dissuade the best gathers and gourmets of the…"

Donna let go of her friend's hand, turned around to grab the chair and fling it at the monster. Darting away, she dragged her friend to the main dining room. The zombie-waiter howled, slashing wildly with the blade as he tried to reorientate himself from the head blow.

Surprisingly, Donna's adventurous friend was resisting their flight to safety. His long lanky frame lingered in the doorway, looking over his shoulder at the flailing cannibal. "Fantastic," He chided, "he was about to give the name of his species! You humans have the worst timing."

"Stop talking rubbish and move before I eat you myself!"

"Ever heard of the Upinishatim of Gilupin?" He said suddenly, blocking the swinging white door with a cart of desserts. Donna thought a blockade was a clever idea and pushed some chairs over too. It wouldn't last and there was more of them behind them, carrying water or menus. But it couldn't hurt and she was following his lead after all. Her friend was still talking. "…They have mastered threats. With your mouth, you could probably get a scholarship with them…"

"What are you on about now?"

"Not sure really." And he grinned and turned to address the startled customers and the melting-faces of the monsters. "Fire in the kitchen! Run for your lives!"

"How is that going to help?" Donna said, lowering her voice just enough so that the customers wouldn't hear.

"Simple. Hostages—who don't know their hostages—run into the night, firemen show up and upon examination recognize the remains in the freezer as human and there you have it. Another," he pulled a fob-watch from his jacket pocket, "save in under an hour. Fantastic. That's the sixth one this month!"

"Right. But what about them?" She pointed at the angry faces of the waiters.

They had all heard her friend's grand declaration of their coming doom. They were dropping the little towels from their arms and letting them fall to the soggy carpet and moving forward. But instead of like zombies, where you expect rigid and mindless walking, they acted with a dark intelligence and elegant movements.

"Them?" Her "James Bond" scoffed, "Plan A will take care of them."

"And plan A is?" Donna picked up a knife for the table, hoping it was sharper than it looked. She moved closer to him, so close that she was touching him.

He smiled down at her and she had to wonder if it was real or pretend. "What plan A always is! Run!"

* * *

Donna was certainly getting her exercise, she fled up and down flights of stairs and raced past blade welding zombies and was so filled with panic and fright that it was hard to remember to pretend to be enjoying it. She'd long ago dropped her knife. She might be scared out of her mind but she was still a regular human girl, not Jack the Ripper. And while, she didn't want to die, she wasn't about to murder anyone—even cannibals—to keep herself alive. Her adventurous friend had only smiled at her when she'd tucked the knife behind a rack of bleach—how did they keep ending up in closets—but he'd said nothing.

Donna followed her friend into another door, nearly stumbling into him when he stopped suddenly in front of her. He twirled her around, sending her skidding into the middle of the large dark space. It smelled a little musty but also of fresh paint. She couldn't see anything interesting down here.

He flashed his remote at the door and grinned, the smile so wide it actually changed the shape of his nose slightly. It reminded her of a mouse that had escaped a trap and even made it home with cheese for supper.

"Donna, do you remember what this place used to be before it got converted into the little deadly diner?" His bright eyes darted about the room, looking at the gray walls of the basement with sudden interest. "Oh, it was on the news… Art museum! One of those nice art gallery with those little shops."

"Aren't we in the basement?" Donna asked.

"Yup. Weren't you paying attention? Three flights up, two flights down, one flight up, four flights down and here we are!"

"I was running for my life!" Donna didn't like anyone making her feel stupid. So she'd lost count of where they were in this big awful place. It didn't mean he should treat her like…

"And so was I. But I didn't get lost. Good thing you've got me, isn't it?" And he beamed at her like he was her knight in shining armor, expecting a golden arrow or something medieval prize-like. The holy grail, maybe. "Are you zoning out on me?"

"What…?" Donna shook her head, her hair splashing into her eyes. If she'd known she'd be doing this much running, she'd have used more mousse. "I was trying to…" she lied, "figure out what the art gallery had to do with anything."

"Two things… one, art is valuable therefore," and he did some sort of jazz-hands-and-point to her motion which made him look more ridiculous then usual, "come on, Donna, think! Use that mind under all that ginger-hair!"

"I can't help it if it's poofy. It's been hot and I don't have a comb…" She defended, trying to pull her hair back. At her friend's exasperated look, she tried to form the answer he wanted from her. "Umm, laser-motion-beam things, guards, dogs—"

"Right, naturally, they would have left Fido behind…"

"Well, I don't know! We're in the basement…" She repeated, "so you're looking for… the security booth! Cameras!"

"Your answer is three seconds after I predicated it would come. If you hadn't go on blathering about your hair, you might have actually beat Mel's record." He took a breath, "So since it's not anywhere else in the building, it's got to be down here."

"Is that why we were running all about?"

"That and I try to run a mile everyday. Keeps me slim."

There was a rattling at the door, low guttural mutterings of their enemies came from beyond it and heavy clanging as they smashed something heavy against it.

"… pay attention to me, Donna." Her egotistical friend said, looking a bit perturbed that her attention had been diverted. "And the second thing about art galleries is…?"

The clanging grew louder and Donna watched a hefty dent form in the center of the door. She stared at it and then back at him. "We're gonna be eaten."

"Typical!" He sighed, "I'm on the edge of saving the universe and you're too worried about dying to even notice. I'll give you one more hint. Candle-light, spotlight."

"Torch-light." She added thoughtlessly. "Can you just save us already, please?"

"Humans! Fine, fine, look these butchers work in a shadowy dining hall—understandable in that situation—but then they also keep the kitchen lights low. Why? Wouldn't you want to see when you're dissecting? And then there is their eyes… put it all together, blend on high, add a dose of genius and the only conclusion left is that…"

"They must be like bats… nocturnal, right?"

"So more like Vampires than Zombies!" He was bouncing now, walking at a brisk pace away from the besieged doorway. "But all those lights weren't removed, too pricey—not when you want to open up as soon as possible and begin harvesting. So we find the light switch and blind them."

He opened up a door and was nearly knocked out by the downward arc of a mop. "Not that door."

He pulled back another and faced a row of leaning paintings, left undoubtedly from the last owners. "Not that one…"

Six doors later, he found the security center, locked them in again and sat down in a deskchair. He spun around a few times before pulling himself up to the keyboard and the mini-tv-screens, and cracking his knuckles. He tapped at the keyboard, pulling up the various screens and checking the location of every gray-skinned monster.

"Lovely." He slipped out of the chair and pushed her into it. "Just tell me what you see them doing."

"You can't leave!"

"Not leaving. Just going over there to open up those nifty looking panels." He jabbed his fingers at the wall beside them.

"Okay." Donna swallowed, troubled more than she could express at the thought he might have left her. What would she have done without him? She didn't like taking orders, never had, but she needed his expertise. She needed him to save her. And he didn't even seem to know it.

"They're almost through the basement door. One of them's got the crème-brulay blowtorch out. Does he really think he can cut through that much steel with that tiny little thing…?" She relayed the information with a bit of commentary, finding that the chatter was calming. Almost like announcing a football game over the radio with stakes no higher than a stupid trophy.

"Almost done." He said, ignoring a splutter of sparks filling the air around him. His hand hovered over the wall, letting the blue light coming from his remote-thing play over the panel's innards. "And there we are!"

Bright light flooded the monitor-screens, flashing them all white for a second. When the camera's adjusted, Donna noted with satisfaction that that the monsters were dropping to the group, burying their heads in their arms.

"Fantastic!" He bounded to her side, leaning his head over her shoulder. He tapped a screen, his finger making a tinny pinging sound on the glass. "Here come the firemen and the coppers! Won't they be getting a surprise! Aliens!"

"Aliens? Aliens don't exist. Tell me there's no aliens…"

He stared at her, absolutely dumbfounded. His words came out slowly. "What did you think they were…? Weren't you just saying a tick ago that they were witches?"

"Right, cause I know witches are real but aliens? You've got to be a proper nutter to believe in them."

"Let me tell you something, there are witches that are actually aliens and aliens that are witches and then there are witches that are not aliens and aliens that are not witches but are, in fact, foodies hungry for people flesh." With that being said, he patted her shoulder and helped her from her chair. "All clear now?"

Her strange friend unlocked the security room's door, and tucked away his wand-remote. He led her up to the main level, weaving his way past the moaning cannibal-aliens on the floor. With a flash of some ID, he was allowed to waltz right past the ring of officers and rescuers and onto the street, pulling her along with him.

"You a police officer?"

"No. Of course not. Can you imagine me in one of those hats?"

"But they just let you…" She picked up her feet, trying to keep up. "they just let you walk right past!"

"Yep. Fancy a drink? I didn't quite get as drunk as I'd like…"

Donna stopped walking. "That's it then? We've just… I mean, shouldn't we talk about it?"

"About what?" He turned, looking puzzled. "It's not a date or anything. Just two friends having a drink."

"Not that, you overgrown prawn! That! That that happened just back there! People dying and getting flambéed and you just standing there like it's not important!"

"What is it about you human women? Always have to "talk about things" "air out my feelings". It's all rubbish. Waste of time. And you, fragile little spitfire that you are, have less than you know… certainly less than I have." He looked at her, solemn and sad. "It's over Donna. We saved who we could save. What more is to be said?"

"Is it always like this with you? I mean, don't you ever, don't you ever feel it? The fear, the horror…"

"Sort of, yeah. Why do you think I keep running?" He came over and draped his arm around her shoulders. He began walking with her tucked beside him, the embrace preventing her from looking around to watch the crime-scene investigation begin.

She laughed, a plastic empty sound. "And I thought it was to keep slim."

And he laughed with her. But they both knew it was pretend.


	5. Chapter 5

**Doctor Who**

Because You're Special

_Just the Chauffeur_

_

* * *

_

"Nice of you to walk me home, James." She giggled, unsteadily climbing the stairs to her flat and leaning heavily on her door. "I had a good time."

"You make it sound like a typical date." He said in a tone of disgust. But then he smiled at her. "You did good tonight, Donna. I knew you would."

"Yeah." She tottered, searching in her pocket for her keys. Blimey, she couldn't remember where she put them. Donna was regretting the numerous drinks and wondering why her friend wasn't passed out. Usually she could drink everyone under the table.

"I was going to ask you…" He paused, scanning her, and shaking his head slightly. "It can wait until morning. When you can give me a proper answer."

"Won't be here in the morning." She finally found her keys, and began flipping through to find the right one. It wasn't easy when they wouldn't stay still. Floating and dancing away, the lot of them. "I've got a Doctor's appointment."

"Funny thing that…" He stopped, "You mean a real doctor's appointment?"

"No, you dunce. A fake Doctor's appointment!" She moved to punch him in the arm and missed, almost falling down the flight of stairs. He caught her and she righted herself, staring up into his eyes. He didn't look drunk. How had he managed that? Or was she so drunk that the less-drunk looked sober to her?

"Check-up?" He prompted.

"Nah." She waved her hands wildly, trying to dismiss the idea like so many flies. "Dad's gotta go for a test. They think the cancer might be back."

He swore.

"Exactly." She agreed, smiling dazedly. "But everything will be fine… I'll be so miserable with a hangover tomorrow, it can't possibly get any worse. Right now, though," and she picked some invisible lint off his jacket, "everything's just peachy."

The man pulled the keys from her hands, unlocked her door and gentle shoved her in. "You go on. Be there for your dad."

"You wanna meet for lunch?" She said with a yawn.

"Nah. You got a busy life ahead of you. A family that needs you. And as for me, Rose is waiting."

"Another time." Donna muttered agreeably.

"Yeah. If I'm lucky." He smiled, looking mysterious. What was it with this bloke? He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

He was half-way to the stairs when she realized he was leaving.

"Oi!"

He waved, a waggle of long fingers in a clownish movement. "Goodnight, Donna."

"What are you doing for next Christmas?"

"I don't know. Probably something daft… maybe I'll go scuba-diving in Spain. See ya." And he was gone.

* * *

The Doctor slipped into the Tardis, careful not to let the door creak too loudly. If they were still hanging out in the control room—though why they'd chosen the room where he should have been able to tinker in peace, instead of a living room somewhere—socializing and flirting like they were in highschool, he didn't want them to see him. He could skirt around the edge…

No need. The control room was empty, the purring and whirring of the Tardis echoing in the dim light.

"Just my ship." He muttered, "Not like I'm important or anything. Just the chauffeur."

Really, he couldn't help sulking a bit as he headed for his room, couldn't Rose have stayed up to see that he made it home safely? Didn't she know he always got into trouble on his own? Well, typically, he always got into trouble, period. He pushed back the door to his room, pulling off his jacket.

"Doctor?" Rose's voice was loud, cheery. She stood in the doorway to one of the lounges where he could hear pop-music playing. Tattered jeans, tee-shirt slipping off one-shoulder, perioxide hair tied into little pigtails, and she was still beautiful.

"Oh hello." He grinned broadly, waving, "Have a good night?"

"Yeah. You?" Rose's smile was goofy and radiant.

"Fantastic. I…" He was about to regale her with the night's events when he heard the voice of _him_ in the other room. He was calling out to Rose about if the Doctor was back.

"I was just heading for bed." The Doctor shouted as an answer to the impertinent twit. "Sweet dreams, Rose."

"Wait." She stepped close, grabbing his arm, tugging slightly, "Come and join us. He's been telling the most incredible, amazing stories."

Like anything_ he_ could come up with was better than the Doctor's stories. He really shouldn't feel jealous of a human-boy. But he was. He almost wish he'd asked Donna to come travel with him. That he had someone to throw in Rose's face like she was doing with her boyfriend… but that wouldn't have been right.

"Hate to tell you this Rose. But I'm a little drunk, so I need to go sleep it off. But you go have fun. See you in the morning!" He stepped into his room and shut the door, but it sounded more like a slam. Flopping his scrawny body on the bed, he kicked off his boots and sprawled out until he was comfortable.

Still, he didn't sleep immediately. He kept wondering at the strange new friend he'd met at the bar and how he could like and dislike someone all at the same time. Proud, pragmatic, gullible and wise all at the same time. He'd have to look Donna up again. One didn't run into too many humans that were companion material and if Rose took off…

He buried his face in a pillow. Perhaps one could lose Rose Tyler… He just hoped it wasn't to the idiot in the other room.


	6. Chapter 6

**Doctor Who**

Because Your Special**  
**

_The Daft Inconsiderate Circus-freak_

* * *

Donna relaxed, crossing her ankles and staring out the window. Off to Spain on her first ever plane-ride. It was nutty really. Insane. Bonkers with a capital B, mixed with a heavy dose of pure craziness—just like her Mum had spent all of last month trying to tell her—but Donna didn't care. For too much of her life had she been trapped in her Mum's expectations and wishes, boxed in, limited by what her Mum thought she was and was not capable of. Maybe, this little trip into insanity was the first step into a better future. Something more than work and telly and loneliness.

Or it could just be one more failed attempt to be something more than the average-looking big-mouthed Donna Noble, a simple temp from Chisick.

Donna promptly ordered a dessert and decided to enjoy her own lunacy. No use doubting the entire escapade, now.

"Peri!" The loud voice came from the back. A man who was wearing some ridiculous rainbow-colored raiment was brandishing an umbrella at a stewardess and addressing a young woman at his side. "Peri, tell the horribly-ill-mannered hostess how displeased you are with your accommodations." He appeared to whisper to his friend, but the words were easily heard throughout the room, possibly even audible to the pilots' in the cockpit.

He put a hand on her shoulder, "Act a bit more petulant, perturbed and perplexed. Make some whining noises," he hissed, "you are quite skilled at that… aren't you?"

The young woman at the man's side wore bright blue mini-shorts, a busy blouse full of mottled colors and some sort of silver circlet beneath her dark bob-like haircut. She looked at her friend, and said sourly in a sweet, somewhat American voice. "I'll…I'll say what I like, thank you very much."

"Hah. That was rather ideal. Now! Turn all that annoyance on the proper target." The man pushed her forward, still maneuvering his umbrella like a barricade between him and the unhappy stewardess.

"My problem, sir, is not with the young lady but with you. It is not the company's policy to allow umbrellas as carry-ons…"

"And it is not my policy to obey silly, frivolous and ridiculous rules. I don't obey my own people' rules. So why ever on Gallifrey, would I then obey any of yours?"

"Really…" Peri interjected, hugging herself nervously, "Don't you think I should stay up here with you… you're always getting into trouble…"

The flight-attendant stared at the man with an expression that was partially frozen politeness and partially icy disdain. "That seems rather obvious."

"I suppose you had best obey the hostile hostess, my dear Perpugilliam…" He said in a low-key voice, looking at the stewardess with more reserve than earlier. "She seems to have taken a dislike to you. Enough, enough belligerency, Peri, second-class is all right for you, after all. But I'm the…"

"Sir, please give me the umbrella or I'll have to get security." The flight-attendant said firmly.

"Security? Security? _Security_! Brain-boggled humo-sapiens, one overweight guard is no match for the burning brightness of a…" He sighed, handing over the umbrella to the uniformed woman, "This is all your fault, Peri."

"My fault, Doctor? That's a laugh." Peri spoke in a soft petulant whine. "I'm not the one who purchased seats in different compartments of the plane!"

Her friend, the Doctor, was a rather large intimidating man, or he would be if his outfit was less ridiculous. He put his hands in his pockets, and looked down at her with a vast amount of arrogance, annoyance and aggravation. "Really, Peri, you can't expect me to go less than first-class. I _am_ a Time Lord, after all."

And with that, he tromped forward, leaving the two women behind him to gossip about his behavior rather noisily. He plopped down next to Donna—it figured the nutter would pick her—and began to arrange his hideous coat around his lap.

"Oi." Donna said, her version of a greeting. "Sounds like your girlfriend is angry. She's got every right to be, rainbow-boy. Buying your date a cheap plane ticket is like…well sort of like, giving her paperclips for earrings. Great big daft inconsiderate circus-freak that you are, what were you thinking?"

"High and lofty magnificent thoughts much above yours, if you actually care to know. You humans are never interested in _my_ vast reservoirs of wisdom." He said grandly, shifting in his seat to observe her.

He wasn't bad looking, nice face, although she doubted his own actual face was anything like the one he seemed to think he had. Ego bigger than… was there even a word? At least her Mr. Ego, at least from what she could remember, had the tall dark and handsome going for him. Mr. Blond-Afro-Crayola-Coat was just weird. And apparently, by his tossing about of the word Time Lord-whatever that meant, and his use of the word human, he thought he was an alien. So all in all, a genuine nutter. But it was like she'd seen him a million times, and never known him, like an actor or announcer on the telly. Perhaps he was one of those girly fashion-designers…it would explain his bizarre attire.

The man, whoever he was, hesitated, finally asking, "Do I know you?"

"No. Not personally, anyway…Believe me," She eyed the cheap-looking white cat-pin on his jacket, "I'd remember you, halo-boy."

"Halo-boy? _Halo_-boy? _Halo-boy_!" Each repetition of the words grew louder and more exaggeratedly pronounced until he was almost shouting. His blue eyes almost bulged. "That's uncalled for, young lady! The sheer cheek, the audacious nerve! Me? Halo-boy? That is simply not me… Ha! I have been called some rude things in my lifetimes, but that! That cannot be allowed to go…"

She cut through the babble with the sharp nigh-meaningless cry of "oi" and, grinned, feeling slightly superior mainly because she was dressed normally and would never treat someone she was romantically involved with like he had his girlfriend. She eyed the golden perm-curled tufts on his head. "Don't you think you're being a little sensitive about your hair?"

"My hair? Lovely, isn't it—it was a timely, comely change from my last identity. An extraordinary handsome improvement! Ha…"He smiled, an arrogant snotty smile that, in spite of that, seemed full of good-humor and something like that slow realization that you've finally understood a joke even though its minutes after everyone in the room laughed. A moment of uncertainty in his eyes and squareish face, and Donna wondered, if all this bluster was some-sort of over-compensation for hidden flaws. Not that she knew anything about that.

He spoke rapidly, his voice dipping into the higher registers in excitement and then lower again with increased confidence. "My hair being like a halo—as in angelic halo—yes, in that regard I quite agree with you. There is something divine about it." He paused, "So you weren't speaking Micropherian a moment ago?"

"Nah. I just speak English." She said, trying to place Microphera on a map. Sounded vaguely like it belonged in South America. "Travel a lot?"

"Oh yes. On and on. Planets fade, universes collapse and I still ramble on. Ever considered a life of hermiting?"

Totally bonkers. He was completely convinced that he was an alien. "I thought a hermit was a person, not an action."

"Hermit, someone who refuses social contact. Hermiting, someone in the act of refusing social contact. Preferrably out of doors. Like a nice cave. I could make a cave quite comfortable." He broke into song, "Let the world burn beyond the door, in my cave I'll stay nice and warm."

"Blimey, I can't believe she's letting you sit up here by yourself." Donna said, muttering, "Very irresponsible of your nurse. Must be you're a harmless loon, eh?"

"Harmless? Loon? _Harmless?" _He bounced from his seat to stare down at her. Somehow, the man managed to spout nonsense at her angrily while maintaining the look and tone of damaged innocence and reputation. "You wretched red-haired fiend, I extend the hand of friendship only to be repeatedly bitten! A wild ginger tabby, is what you are! You do speak Micopherian, don't you! Admit it! Hah! I have seen through your disguised deceit!"

No man was going to intimidate Donna Noble with his height and his voice. Men feared her, not the other way around. So, Donna slapped him. "Sit down, mate!"

"You hit me? You _hit_ me. You hit_ me_…" He sank into his seat, rubbing at his cheek. "How rude to slap the person sitting next to you who is _merely_ trying to be friendly… you hit me…It'll bruise with my luck…"

"Shut up, you prawn." She pulled his hand away, examining the pink skin. "Your cheek is fine."

"Why did you hit me?" He looked at her sullenly, woundedly.

"Because you were talking… I don't even know the word… crazy stuff. Paranoid ramblings. Now," She smiled, pleased at how she now had the upper hand in the situation. She stood, pulling two pillows from a hatch above her head and offering one to her seat-mate. "Why don't you bring things down from crazy-town with a nice nap, huh?"

"Bring things down from crazy-town. Pop classic in the year…" He stopped, accepting the pillow. "Right. Well, first things first to hermiting. Stop having social contact."

"Lovely." She dropped into her seat, tucked the pillow against the wall and closed her eyes. Donna was fairly certain she could stop the lunatic beside her if he got aggressive again, if a little slap was enough to put him in line.

* * *

She awoke to find a face pressed closed to hers. "Oh my God, what do you think you are doing!"

"Something isn't right about you." The blond-man said cryptically, and Donna's skin began to crawl. His eyes were intense, so cold and piercing that she felt her heart begin to pound.

"Back off, bucko!"

"I wish I had my sonic. I could discover so much more. " He dropped back in his seat, folding his fingers together on his stomach and staring down at the tip of his shoes. His thick face-not quite pudgy-but not exactly slim, was like frozen plastic, a strange dazed little half-smile paused as his eyes flickered and darted back and forth. Snapping out of it, he began lecturing in his languid grandiose voice, "The powers of observation and deduction will have to serve me instead. And I am quite clever, brilliant, genius, so I do have that in my favor." He paused, turning completely sidewise to state grandly, "You are a temporal enigma, Donna, that says it all..."

"I'm just a temp and you're batty and—how do you know my name?"

"Thank you. I shall catalog that bit of riddle, the name Donna, under the bit known as destiny." He went back to staring at his shoes and, in that high-pitched melodramatic egotistical voice that Donna was learning to despise, murmured, "Yes…"

"Did you say destiny? There's no such thing." Except crazy men kept popping up in her neat normal life using that word.

"No. But there is temporal manipulation." He frowned, "But why? Why you? You're nothing special. Although with your charming personality, I can see _why_ someone would like to destroy your future… hah. But why the entire galaxy's future, hmmm? Just because a horrid human girl is slap-happy?"

"I didn't catch most of that." She started speaking slowly, and then built up steam and anger, "but I believe there was a request for another slap in there somewhere!"

"Stop threatening me when I'm trying to save the whole of creation! I've been threatened by experts; it gets rather old!" He said crossly, not moving from his contemplative position, except to tap his fingers together in rhythm to whatever bonkers song he was hearing in the spongy brain beneath his heavy golden mop of "handsome" hair." Now, what do we know? One, it is emanating from you, a pulse, a throb, a heartbeat of something…something wrong…like one of those silly flashing lures for gumblejacks…drawing something to you."

"That's it, I'm going to the loo. Hopefully, I can get the stewardess to give me one of those empty seats over there." She crawled over him, banging his leg on purpose against the seat.


	7. Chapter 7

**Doctor Who**

Because Your Special**  
**

_Another Nutter Standing Next to Me  
_

_

* * *

_He stood before her, hands in jacket pockets, legs apart, daft confident pleased grin on his face. Like this was all normal. Like she hadn't traveled all this way to meet a stranger she'd met in a bar, on a night she barely remembered, at a place she hadn't been sure he'd even be at.

Donna dragged her carry-on, which hadn't seemed this heavy earlier, and dropped it with a loud thud before his feet. She looked up into his eyes, expecting to give him a rude comment or wipe his foolish impish grin off with a sharp slap, but instead found her lips trembling and inching into a grin.

"Right then. Off we go." He turned on his heel and ambled away in his long-legged stride.

"Off _where_?" Donna yanked her bag from the floor and flung it over her shoulder, chasing after him. "Oi! Is it always like this with you—such an awful lot of running?"

"Sort, of yeah." He whirled in a circle to make eye-contact, shot her another grin, and turned around again to keep marching away. Donna almost stopped, berating herself for thinking that she even entered into his considerations—he was just like everyone else—paying no attention to her existence unless she demanded it; when he shot his hand out to the side, wraggling his fingers, expecting and demanding that she take his hand.

"Blimey." She took it.

"Scuba-diving should be fantastic this time of year. Tomorrow, yeah?"

He dragged her along, past the security checks with a wave of his paper and wallet. Out the door, down to the curb and stopping breathlessly in front of a police—at least it looked like a police—car where her strange seat-companion from the plane was being shoved inside by armed men.

The blond freak caught sight of Donna, his eyes widening and his mouth opening to scream, "Wait, wait, time is fracturing! Time is fracturing around you, Donna Noble! This is more important than a mere enigma—I've worked it out! Unhand me, I have to save time itself!" He struggled against the cop's grip, trying to pop up as the men were trying to shove him down and into the vehicle. "Someone is corrupting the time-stream and it is breaking apart! Why don't you listen? Why don't you stupid ungrateful homo-sapiens ever listen to your betters!" The door slammed in his face, his face red with exertion and pressed against the glass, eyes drilling into Donna's and mouth still chattering inaudibly about time-stream nonsense.

"I can feel it." James Bond said suddenly.

"What?"

"I need a bigger head." He rubbed at his temples, staring down at her. "I can't remember this. Why can't I…?"

"Are you all right? Please tell me there is not another nutter standing next to me."

"Nope. Same one."

He grinned, which seemed a rather savage expression all of a sudden. Like one of those pretty plants on the nature shows that looks so innocent and then swallows an innocent passing fly. Adrenaline laced through her body and she took a step back.

"You asked me once. If it was always like this. It is, yeah, yep, completely. Are you scared, Donna Noble? 'Cause you can get back on that plane and go home to Christmas goose and watching telly and unwrapping useless meaningless trinkets for your mantle from relative you can't remember and care nothing for—or…" And he gave her that grin that made her feel brave and special and completely mad right along with him, "you can come with me."

"Don't be daft. I'm here, aren't I?"

His eyes flickered downward over her rather wrinkled gray business suit and sneakers. "Shopping! We'll make it fast, eh? Not worry about matching skin-tones and the right eye-shadow—just pop in and out!" Her friend grabbed her hand and dragged her into a cab, ignoring her protests about her luggage, evasive about what he'd meant early about "feeling it" and rambling on and on about some big assembly of explorers and vagabonds at the hotel tonight.

"You knew that man, that man in the police car, didn't you?" She cut him off mid-sentence about the dinner's seating arrangements being planned by Yustaphi of Shrilit and how he had to remind him about not sitting the Vitagoriq next to Mr. Benjamin Huddle.

"Me? Possibly, probably, perfectly—listen, it's all in the past. Whatever issues are at work—he's clever enough to solve them and he undoubtedly will—its the forgetting how he solves them that has me baffled." He leaned back, thoughtful and silent, for once. And there was something about her friend's expression that was unsettling. Perhaps it was how closely it resembled Halo-Boy's thinking pose before he continued spouting Time and destiny rubbish. He looked at her, those blue eyes so intense. "And you know what? I don't like being baffled."

"But he's just crazy, isn't he? You can't be really believe all that nonsense about time-rivers and fracturing? It's not real. Probably just some prank, maybe a hidden camera show—you think that's it? Nerys getting me back for last summer? I mean that outfit he was wearing does have Nerys written all over it."

"Who is Nerys—never mind, don't answer that—don't care—what I do care about is my vacation. Right then, shopping and then supper with the Guild."

Donna sank back against the car seat. "Can I ask you something?"

"That's a change."

"What?"

"You being polite. Last time you were both rude and ginger." He wriggled on the seat as if the car wasn't going fast enough—or he had difficulty sitting still. "Go on then, Donna."

"Last time—that's just it. I was a bit drunk."

"Quite a bit." He replied gleefully.

"And so I really can't remember…I mean, normally, I am good with names but—"

"You can call me James Bond."

"Seriously?" Donna squeaked and yet somehow, she did hazily remember calling him that last Christmas. "You having me on or what?"

"It's what the hotel rooms are under. You can check when we get there, if you like." He shrugged, bounding out of the car as soon as it rolled to a stop. "Here we are. The only shop in Spain ran by a renegade Barcelonaian monk—that's Barcelona the planet, by the way—are you coming?"

"James Bond. Barcelona the planet. Space Explorers' Guild. Rainbow-vomit-coat-wearing nutters." She muttered under her breath, clutching her bag to her as she clambered out of the car. She paid the cabbie—since her friend made no move to do so—and then stared up at the sign. _Barcelona Renegade_ it read in bright gold above the traditional-style wood entrance.

In for a penny, as her Gran used to say, in for a pound. She pushed past her lanky friend and swore to herself that she was going to live—really live—no more fear and doubt. She'd wasted too much life to that already.

* * *

The Doctor began humming an old Gallifreyan school chant, mumbling the words, "what I wouldn't give for a sonic," as he went. A sonic screwdriver really would be so utterly helpful. Why didn't he ever take a moment and make one or go buy one. That might be a fun trip with Peri—to the Sontarran-Judoon Black Market for a screwdriver. Provided he ever did get out of these handcuffs and found Peri again.

"She is," He stated dramatically, "probably sipping lemonade at the café _unaware_ of her poor Doctor's plight. Well, I hope its sour, my girl! I hope you choke on a seed!" He shouted in the empty interrogation room. "Serves you right for insisting to stay in a completely different compartment of the airplane. Women and their sense of privacy and all that."

The door opened a crack, spilling white light across the floor and his table and splashing it into his eyes. After blinking, he found he was facing a woman in a business suit. Her face and hands were wrinkled and mottled with age but her frame was straight and her blue eyes clear. Hair pulled back into a pony-tail and a gun clipped to her stylish belt, he had the feeling she wasn't the compassionate or the understanding type.

"I was framed." He stated bluntly and inaccurately.

"Its good to see you again, Doctor. After all this time…" Her voice was softer than expected but presently, she removed the gun from her belt and unlatched the tip, triggering a mechanism that brought a long thin needle to full extension. A few elegant taps of her fingers and there was a slight hiss as the gun began to glow a sickening lime-color.

"Now, now, now, now! There is no need to torture me. I am quite capable of talking on my own—more than capable—as every Dalek and Sontarran from here til the end of time can attest!" He squirmed, rattling the cuffs behind his back and thinking furiously of something witty to stave off the end. If only he'd paid better attention when he'd met Houdini… of course, he had been busy saving the galaxy at that point, but regardless…

"Just a relaxer, Doctor." The woman stepped closer. Ignoring his multiple protests, which were all elegantly phrased and rippling off his silver tongue faster than a canoe over the Dixiori Cascades, she deftly inserted the needle into the side of his throat.

A warm rush of heaviness spread up and down from the insertion point and the Doctor tried to combat it. Perhaps a detox would… but his brain, his glorious brilliant brain was acting more like a bowl-full of mush than his finest tool. The warmth curled about his toes and flooded his ears making them feel hot and red and pounded out a peaceful thrum in his brain. Oh it was very relaxing. Terrifying. But relaxing.

"Scream if you like." The woman tipped his head back, it lolled to the side as if he was half-dead and the Doctor found he couldn't care less about what was going to happen next. Probably it mattered—maybe Peri would be sad when she found him—but he was _so_ very content with his fate at the moment. The woman dropped the gun back into its holster at her side and lifted gnarled white fingers, with neat polished nails, to his face. Slipping them on either side of his face, the Doctor could feel the light telepathic pressure of another psychic being and then the outpouring of will and determination to alter him. Fighting off the nauseating peacefulness, he tried to maintain some barriers, tried to ascertain her agenda, tried to build up energy for a counterattack.

"Saving worlds, rescuing civilizations," she intoned from above him, her white hair glowing in the harsh florescent lighting, her face shadowed, "sometimes calls for hard decisions."

The Doctor screamed as her will blasted through his sleepily-constructed barriers and tamped down on him like a hammer on a nail. Squeezing him into a tiny-hole and then slowly retreating with something…something…and then…

A sharp slap to the face brought his eyes open.

There was a woman above him, in a business suit. Her face and hands were wrinkled and mottled with age but her frame was straight and her blue eyes clear. Hair pulled back into a pony-tail and a gun clipped to her stylish belt, but her eyes were kind and her smile welcoming. He had the feeling she was one of the more compassionate or understanding types of human.

"Hello, Doctor, is it? Your American friend is waiting outside."

She moved gracefully behind him and released his sore hands from their captivity—although, they seemed bruised and raw—strange, he didn't remember any rough handling or extreme struggling. He rubbed at his wrist briefly and rose from the chair, brushing his coat off as if to remove the fingerprints of his captors. "Is she now? And I'm free to join her?"

"Are you calm enough, Doctor? Not going to make another scene, again—are you?" The woman eyed him, prompting him to agree with her clear blue eyes and her maternal tones.

He racked his enormous cavernous brain for the memory of "making a scene" and came up with only a brief exchange with a stewardess over his umbrella. "Pressed charges, did she? Irritating little woman not even qualified for real inter-spacial travel and exploration. Oh no, I do not intend," He waved his arms about grandly, "to give up my umbrella to anyone ever again. If that means I must thrust my way past every single guard you have to preserve my possession and my right to carry it—"

"Doctor."

"Hmm? No, of course not. What do you take me for? Some maniac who enjoys trouble? Hah. And again, I say to you, _hah_!" He whirled on his toes, barging out of the door and into Peri's frantic arms. "Stop your hugging—I just promised I wouldn't make a scene. I've been drugged—and hugged—enough for one day. Idiot stewardess. Have I told you Peri? How much I dislike stewardesses?"

He opened his umbrella that his companion had been carrying, shook it slightly as if to shake out the wrinkles and flaunt it before his captors. "Now. Off we are to find Friar Celino. He'll have the part we need for the TARDIS and then we can get off this back-wards, back-woods, back-brained planet and into the stars again."

"I'm so glad you're all right, Doctor." She said, clinging to his arm. "They said, they said, you were raving something fierce."

"I do not rave, my dear young Peri," he said haughtily, snapping his umbrella closed as they stepped outside of the nondescript building. "I rhapsodize."


	8. Chapter 8

**Doctor Who**

Because Your Special**  
**

_The Most Erratic and Enigmatic Soul_

* * *

It was the oddest shop, Donna Noble had ever seen, weirder than the cluttered junk-shop where Gramps had found that lens—or whats-it-called—for his telescope and weirder than her friend Veena's favorite health food store. Reams of silken fabric flowed from large pillars and ceiling beams and there was at least twenty clusters of dangling strands of multi-colored ribbons, tied to clothes hangers that dangled from hooks on the beams. Along the edges of the great open space were dressing rooms with heavy wooden doors and numbered with gold letters and antique dress-forms lining each side like soldiers facing off for battle. Where there wasn't a dress-form or a dressing room, there were shelves filled with fabric bolts, needles, thread and small wrought-iron sewing machines and some metallic gadgets that Donna did not recognize. In the center of the room was a round table larger than a car and cluttered with patterns, fabric and scissors, with a hole in the center where a tall slim man, with golden hair and wearing dark-lensed metal edged spectacles and a welcoming smile, sat and waited.

"Doctor, I've been expecting you." He said in a musical, highly accented (though Donna could not place his origin) cadence. He squinted at the Doctor, "Though not you."

"Doctor?" Donna frowned. So he was really a physician rather than an explorer/spy. She felt this should make him less interesting but since he was the most erratic and enigmatic soul she'd ever met, it really didn't. But there was something else to that title. That nutter on the plane, had called himself the Doctor, too.

"'Ello, friar, this is Donna. Donna, Friar Celino of Barcelona." The Doctor, as he'd been newly christened, sat on the spacious table and was twisting a bit of paper—sketched with some design of a dress—in his hands as if trying to find which way was up. "Ah, clever. The Sol system's orbits in brocade. You know the humans will never get this."

"There is a message in all we do," Celino said, pulling the paper away, "even if it is not understood. I surmise you are not here for a time-rotator coupling."

"Course not." The Doctor said, "I have six of those in storage. Can never have too many. What do you think of that green one over there, Donna?"

"The Green what?" Donna tried to follow the Doctor's jabbing finger.

"The dress, stupid. It's what we're here for."

"Oi!"

"It was just a suggestion." Her friend said defensively. "Go on, pick something out."

Donna walked toward the dressforms, admiring their sloping lines and ornate details. They were not flashy and they were not modern and they were not very revealing. For all of that, Donna could not see these characteristics as negative. Instead, they were all exquisite and fit for princesses without being overly sentimental. As she perused them, fingers lightly trailing over silk sleeves and sucking in her breath at the prices. They were beautiful, almost worth the price, but her Mum would never forgive her if she actually spent that much on one dress. So Donna contented herself with looking and dreaming and keeping half of her attention on the two men's conversation.

"How about a few artron regulators? I can have them packaged in a nice-foam insulated box with the protective lead shielding by tomorrow evening." Celino offered, his golden hair pulled back into an impossibly long pony-tail that Donna didn't doubt reached the floor trembled as he nodded his head to himself. "Or I have a few sonic-device amplifier attachments."

"Can't be greedy, now can I?" The Doctor, said his arms crossed, "Business must be bad, Celino if you are offering such grand items."

"No sir, Doctor." Celino countered, tipping up a section of the round table, to let him exit the hole in the center and aiming a pen, glowing with golden light, at the front door. A mechanical sign flipped over, announcing the store was now closed, metal shutters snapped closed around the windows and the door bolted with a click. "As my most valuable repeat customer, I just want to be sure, you are well-supplied. After all, my friend, saving the galaxy must take its toll on your equipment."

Saving the galaxy. Donna shivered. That sounded terribly familiar.

Celino grabbed a dressform clothed in a scarlet evening gown and tipped it towards himself. At this, a large shelving unit slid backwards and to the side. An ominous looking stone staircase took its place.

"Blimey." Donna left the dresses and came to stand beside her friend. "For a monk, I think you would be more honest about your true business."

"Saving souls is my true profession. Dress-making and selling equipment are mere hobbies." Celino countered with a smile. "I hope to have you both leave with something you like."

Donna drew her eyes from the mysterious stairway, and gave the monk a raised eyebrow. "Sorry mate, not at your prices."

The Doctor, however, ignoring the banter had vanished down the staircase and was shouting something about "she's beautiful" and "I haven't seen one of these in ages. Oi, Celino, would you part with it?" from below.

Celino smiled and led Donna down to the cavernous room, lit with purple-light spewing crystal vases bolted to the wall and filled with piles and piles of neatly categorized junk. A few shopping carts, large flat-wheelbarrows and what appeared to be a combination of a bull-dozer and an octopus were by the staircase. Long rows of neatly sorted mini-gadgets were stored on shelves lined with black-velvet.

"So," Donna said softly and then asked rather loudly, "are you like spy-support? You know like in those films, _James Bond_, that-what's his name-W? Some lower letter of the alphabet. Gives Bond all his save-the-world toys. Bombs in watches and stuff."

Celino opened his mouth, looking like he was having trouble processing all of her statements. Finally, he shook his head. "I am a man of peace. I sell no bombs, no weapons, just a few items for ship-repair and some tools to a few trusted and valued customers."

"When you say ship repair…"

Her skinny friend distracted her by giving a little happy grunt-like sound. He was in a corner of the basement, stroking a rather shabby looking metal box as if it was a beloved puppy. He looked up at her, babbling excitedly in his northern accent. "One of only five in existence, Donna. She was the most sought-model for almost 450 years. A beautiful fantastic classic."

"And completely impractical for a Barcelonian sized humanoid." Celino added, regretfully. "Still, she is beautiful."

"It's a box."

Celino tapped Donna's shoulder and nodded at the box. "That's all a matter of taste."

Donna raised an eyebrow, glanced back at the box and watched it transform into the most beautiful sports-car rocket-ship, all painted in platinum silver and glittering in the purple light.

"Can't fail to be impressed by it. Anyone. Except for you, who had made you mind up _not_ to see it in all it's fantastic glory. You, Donna, decided it looked like a box." The Doctor stood, "It takes the image of whatever the dream vehicle is of the beholder. Rudimentary telepathy wrapped in a level 320 chameleon circuit. The supreme luxury vehicle."

"You gonna snog it then?" She said, a little amused at the loving look he was giving to the mini-vehicle.

"I might." He retorted. "Where's your dress?"

"I can't afford one. I would have had something to wear in my bags but _someone _dragged me away before getting them all."

Celino interrupted. "Artron converters?"

Her friend looked back at the what-its-called-ship and then nodded. "Sounds practical. But only if you throw in one of those dresses."

"Naturally, I shall package the converters up tomorrow morning. Come, Donna, let's find you a dress."

A half-hour later, Donna was leaving the _Barcelona Renegade _with the dress of her dreams, a blue and white dress that her friend had found "adequate" and a silver and pearl haircomb. "I still can't believe you paid him in Barcelona Newspapers and religious pamphlets."

"He's in exile. Who wouldn't want news from home?" Her friend shrugged. "Well, me excluded. Come on, room 206."

Leaping past the uniformed hotel-workers and vacationers, he hopped into the elevator. Donna followed, lugging her bag and her dress-box and wondering if her friend had ever heard of chivalry. Inside the elevator, the Doctor hummed along with the cheesy music and practically dragged her into the hallway as soon as the doors slid back.

"Dinners in ten minutes. I'll pick you up in five."

"Listen, you big-eared biker, I can't get ready in five minutes! My hair's a mess and I need to reapply my makeup…"

"You earth women!" He began walking down the hall, entering a room next to her with a flash of his keycard. "Five minutes."

"Oi, keys!"

He flicked her keycard at her like a frisbee and vanished into his own room. A second later, as she tried to decide what to drop from her arms, so she could unlock her door, her friend's head popped out of his door. "Donna?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't bother my TARDIS, will you? Had to put her in your room."

"The What?"

"The TARDIS. Blue-box. Bigger on the inside." And he vanished again.

"The world has gone… bonkers." She hissed, finally unlatching the door. Donna felt a little triumphant at the feat, having done it without having to call for her friend's help or put down a single item. She dumped her armload on the bed and then she saw it.

Big. Blue. Box. It looked like it was made of wood and painted a dark blue and was slightly taller and larger than her closet back home. It had police-box written all over it and it was parked in the middle of her hotel room like a silent, and somewhat frightening, observer. "Blimey." She patted every wall, wondering at how he'd gotten it into the room, through that little door. Donna couldn't stop the feeling, crawling up her arms like little marching ants that had been dipped in electrical current, that there was something special about this box and that she had always known about it. Like the moment her friend had said TARDIS, she pictured something blue.

"Now, how am I gonna sleep with you staring at me?"

She changed in the bathroom.


	9. Chapter 9

**Doctor Who**

Because Your Special**  
**

_Good, Brave and Fearless Insanity_

_

* * *

_

Donna tugged the dress's shoulder-straps a bit straighter and was about to apply some lipstick when the door opened. She glanced out the door, "Be out in a minute."

"We haven't got a minute." The tall man announced with supreme irritation, scowling slightly as he sank into a nearby chair and crossed his arms. Her mysterious James Bond had changed into a suit, nice dark blue tie and sharp black dress-shirt, but he still wore his battered black jacket over it all. There was something about that jacket…like she'd seen it in a shop or something before. Maybe Brandon, her first boyfriend and worst nightmare, had had a jacket like it.

Donna frowned. Stupid. She was so stupid. There were things that didn't feel right and did feel right and she wasn't making the proper connections. She smoothed on the lip-color, checked the pearl-comb in her hair and wished the diet had worked a little better. Still, for what she was, she looked nice.

"I tell you what," he announced, "I'm so sick of female companions. Always into hair and eyeliner and domestic."

"Oi, Sunshine," Donna snapped, exiting the bathroom. "Can I ask you something?"

He sprung up like the hyper-active mystery-man that he was, smiling that crazy joyous grin and offering her his arm. "On the way. Haven't attended one of these meetings in years. Can't wait to see if Huddle actually found the ancient civilization of Argolis. Come on, I can walk and talk at the same time. Ha. Not a problem with me actually. I can even run and shout if it comes to it."

"Would you stop babbling, James Bond?" Donna took his arm, letting him lead her from the room and out into the hall. She frowned, something about holding the Doctor's arm, felt familiar. And that jacket, and that box. Dancing in the snow. Brandon. "Oh my god," She clutched his arm tighter, staring up into those blue eyes, "it's you!"

"You do know that that's not a question. Funny how your brain works, Donna, all unfocused and erratic. Actually, it's a bit fantastic. Like my brain."

She let go of him, leaning against the opposite wall. Almost afraid to touch him or look at him. It was like seeing a ghost. Or a really good-looking friendly alien who liked playing James Bond with British redheads. An alien. She'd been drunk, and had dismissed that conversation, like most of the night, as some delusional impossibility. But here he was, foreign and mysterious and otherworldly and unchanged since that Christmas when she was a kid.

"I'll shut my mouth then," He crossed his arms and leaned against her bedroom door, eyes dark and so cunning looking, "and hope that you'd like to explain."

"You're a mad-man in blue-box. A daft alien, who I watched pick out that, old black leather jacket one Christmas Eve. You were dressed like a cowboy, covered in blood…" Donna rubbed at her temple, "I am so stupid. It doesn't make sense, but nothing about you makes sense, does it?"

"Not especially, no." He eyed her, sending chills through her. He could be so frightening, and yet always, wonderful somehow.

"But it can't be. It just can't be."

"The TARDIS is a time-machine. I'm a Time Lord, by the way, nice to meet you. Hello."

"Stop grinnin', like it makes everything better."

"A nice friendly smile? You'd be amazed at how many wars this daft old grin has ended."

"Being with you, I'll believe anything. I almost have to, don't I? Hang on, that crazy man in the appalling coat, he said he was a Time Lord. You're one of his lot?"

"Donna…"

"Celino called you the Doctor. There was another bloke, a midget with hair like one of those Three Stooges, he called himself the Doctor. How many Doctor-Time Lord things are there? And why do I keep…? Is it an invasion? Oh this is _brilliant_," she began inching away from him, clenching a fistful of dress in her hands, in case she had to yank it up and run, "I go on my first vacation outside of the country and I discover an evil alien plot! That's what this meeting is about, Martian Boy? Taking over earth?"

"Suspicious fearful human-apes. No matter how many times I save you, you are still ungrateful and blind!" He was angry now, veins in his neck appearing, eyes intense and his friendly grin gone. He stopped, only a few inches away, "I'm the Doctor. I'm alone and unarmed and I have no desire to conquer anything. I'm a tourist, eh? A stranger visiting galaxies and planets all—throughout time and space. Just to see them. Just because they're there."

"In a police-box."

"In a police-box…you got something against police-boxes?"

"No. Except when they are in my bedroom."

"My room's too small." He shrugged, titling his chin slightly and watching her with those wise crazy blue eyes. Donna had no idea what he was thinking but she wanted, for some reason, him to think well of her. Like she wanted to be something special in his eyes. He was bloody bonkers, but his opinion, suddenly, mattered more than anyone else's in the world.

Donna cleared her throat. "So… you just, I don't know, keep running. Saving people from terrible things, like you did at the restaurant."

"Like _we_ did at the restaurant. Wasn't that fantastic?" He was bouncing on his feet, like her old crazy friend, full of energy and fun and it was hard to imagine that she'd been terrified of him a moment ago. But she was, still, somewhere deep inside, she had always been afraid of him. He was different from anything or anyone she knew.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" She reached out slowly and took his hand, threading her fingers through his.

"Everyone learns what they need to as we run. It's a lot more fun that way. And, if they're not gonna stick about…"

"You haven't gotten too attached." She finished.

They stood in the hallway, holding hands, looking at each other and listening to the silence. She was crazy. Crazy. But so was he. And she wanted to be his kind of crazy. That good, brave and fearless insanity that made him really live and take chances on strangers. Running and fighting and saving people. A simple tourist, no matter how grand, he was not.

Donna kept her eyes on their linked hands, and said in an even tone, "Anybody ever tell you, you're just dazzling."

"Nope. Usually they just claim I'm trying to invade their planet and try and kill me. Shall we go to dinner?"

"Yeah. Yeah, Doctor." It sounded strange, calling him that, like she'd finally met the real-man and he was a stranger. But Donna Noble knew one thing. Whatever was going to happen, wherever this was going, she was sticking around.


	10. Chapter 10

**Doctor Who**

Because Your Special**  
**

_Tweedy Sweep-Over Bangs Time Boy_

_

* * *

_

"Miss Noble?"

Donna pulled her attention from the Doctor, who was laughing at some pudgy pink-fellow's jokes about worm-holes, in between sketching a negativity nebula on a chalkboard and explaining it to Pinky. He was across the room, bouncing about topics and half-insulting the other "meeting members" with his brilliance, like he'd been doing for the last hour. Oh, he'd stayed by her side for a bit, but she wasn't going to keep the great big alien chatting about glassware and the nice flowers on the table when he could be discussing… whatever negativity nebulas were with an attentive audience.

"Yeah?" She glanced at the man to her left, skimming his scarlet bowtie and his tweed colored suit. He looked like the ultimate nerd or like that stupid American character, Pee Wee Herman. He also needed a haircut, badly, and if she'd had scissors, she'd have trimmed his bangs properly. Or a manly hair-clip to pin it out of his eyes…did they make such a thing?

He laughed, a jubilant sound, and pointed a scrawny finger in her face. His eyes, shadowed by his large brow, grew serious as they darted about, scanning her face. "I knew it was you. It hasn't been so long that I've forgotten."

Donna paused, staring at him, and realizing there was only one question to ask. "You're one of those Time Lords, aren't you?"

He drew himself up, sifting his hands through his hair like he was trying to either stall for time, or see how long he had let his hair go. Either were a definite possibility as far as Donna was concerned. He leaned back to observe her, a pale handful of slim fingers twitching in some sort of rhythm not far from his face. As if testing the answer on his tongue before releasing it, he said slowly, "Yes."

"You blokes are everywhere."

"Shouldn't be. Can't be. It's not allowed." He frowned, "I sent Rassilon and his men back to hell. Unless they are escaping through the cracks."

"Time fracturing again, Bow-tie Boy? 'Cause, I've heard all that bit before."

"Really?" He straightened, "From who, exactly."

"Another of you Time Lord things."

"Not things. People. Time Lord are just as important as humans, you know." He nudged her with an elbow, as if sharing a private joke.

"He said that…" she tried to recall the madman's grandiose ramblings, "He said something about temporal manipulation and me being… a fishing lure…"

The new Time Lord, reached into his pocket and withdrew one of those Time Lord universal remote wands like her Doctor had, except this one had a green tip. "Do you mind if I give you an once-over with this thinga-ma-jig? Well, actually, it's a sonic screwdriver. Sonic screwdrivers are cool. If you remember the last one was all silver and blue and this beauty is…" He stopped, pausing and paling, as if he had suddenly remembered something dreadful. "…well…different…How's your head, Miss Noble?"

"If you're worried about me accusing you of being a loon and an invading alien, yeah, I think I've gotten over that for now."

"Right. No big pounding headaches? Inexplicable burning sensations?"

"Is that normally what happens when you show a lady your nifty gadget? Sorry. I don't faint. Not for some stupid pen and a scrawny little bloke like you. What are you, like an eleven-year-old Time Lord?"

"You're like a mean Amy. Somehow, I'd forgotten all the meanness."

"I've had an odd couple hours, mate. I'm not feeling charitable. Actually, you know what, I'm feeling rather stalked."

"No one is stalking you…unless, of course they are, which in that, case would be really really bad. Can I?" He lightly tossed the remote wand in the air, caught it and made faux-scanning motions with it toward Donna's head.

"Fine, but if anything goes wrong…"

"Slapping. Yes, I remember the slaps. Unexpected slaps. Hard slaps. Donna slaps. Compared to yours, Jackie's were like slapper-in-training slaps…" He busied himself with raising and lowering the universal remote—sonic screwdriver—up and down. It made weird whirling sonicky sounds and glowed like a little green wand. Somehow, between the fairy-wand thing and his odd appearance, she was reminded of a nerdy leprechaun. "Oi…well…whoever your Time Lord buddy was, he was obviously quite clever and intuitive. You are," His head bounced up and down, a sort of gangly fidgety movement and his eyes slide over her rapidly, "…in fact," He leaned back, tilted his head and peered at her from the corner of his eyes, "…a victim of temporal manipulation."

"In human terms that means that time is being altered around me, yes?"

"Yes." He tapped the sonic against his chin, beady little eyes staring at the ceiling, "Hush, I'm thinking."

"I didn't say anything-"

"Hush." He clapped a hand over her mouth. "But who is doing the altering…? And why…? Donna has anything odd been happening? Besides meeting Time Lords?"

She slapped his hand away, leaving a satisfying red welt on his wrist. "Watch it, bow-tie boy." She growled, taking a step back. "Everything been just perfectly normal. Except there was the vampire-waiters and the dress-making friar and my friend not looking a day older than when I met him as a kid."

"Friend? Another Time Lord?" His fingers twitched in some spastic pattern as he scanned the room.

"The tall good-looking one in the black jacket." She pointed at the Doctor, still waving his arms wildly at the chalkboard, although he was now holding a champagne flute as he gestured. "We met at a pub last Christmas."

Bow-tie boy paused, tilted his head to the side and after a moment of dully staring at the Doctor, his eyes side-glanced at Donna. "Big-ears… are cool? Speaking of Christmas-time, what time is it exactly?"

"Seven-ish? I'm not sure, exactly but supper was at six."

He turned to face her, hunching his shoulders oddly so he looked scrawnier and more intense than the nerd-Lord usually did. "Yes, yes, but the year, Donna."

"Time Lords who don't know what the year is?"

"I travel a lot, the TARDIS is a bit random and I never look at the sensor readings before leaping into danger—most of the time anyways," his odd face crinkled into a goofy-child like grin, "all in all, I get rather mixed up about petty things like the exact year."

"2006, at least for a few more days. If you think it's so petty to know when you are exactly, than what are you asking me for?"

"Early days for you then."

He twirled his sonic through his fingers before tucking it away in his coat. She'd seen her friend, James Bond/The Doctor, do the same thing. Did they all take lessons in sonic screwdriver spinning before they were allowed to roam through time?

"This is not good. Very bad, not good. You're not supposed to have met me…him. Not yet. Not until after Bad Wolf Bay and all that Huoron particles-blended-with-coffee stuff."

Donna's head was practically pounding with all of the weirdness. Talking with strangers about things like destiny and proper time and Time Lords. If she hadn't seen so much, she would have declared them all bonkers and walked away. But, as it was, for better or for worse, Donna Noble was trapped in this brave new world of aliens and time-travel. Finally sorting through the man's babblings, she managed to offer, "So, what, time is being altered so that I met a man I wasn't supposed to?"

"The Doctor."

"This one anyhow."

"This one…" He began pacing, hunched slightly and staring at the floor, completely oblivious to the stares of the other Explorers at the party. "They've all been the Doctor, haven't they? Yes. Of course, a mutated warped Dalek may gain odd powers falling through the void but he doesn't gain perfect aim. Dalek Caan has been drawing us together, but not precisely. Not just my last incarnation, but all of them future and past. But," he paused, whirling to face her, "why can't I remember?"

"I am not a woman who scares easily, but you are scaring me."

"It comes naturally." He commented and resumed his pacing. Suddenly he slowed, and reached for Donna's shoulders. He seemed a little shorter—but then again, James Bond was taller than an alien sky-scraper—and he stared into her eyes, uncomfortably close, holding her in place. "I remember you on the TARDIS, the angriest bride in the universe, but before that, this year, I was traveling with Rose."

"_The Doctor_ is traveling with Rose." She heard the words: incarnation, I, me, us. But she couldn't see what they meant. It was easy to believe that these strange men were all some intense-gibberish spouting alien Time Lords. But they were all'the Doctor'? What did that mean? The Doctor?

And more importantly, she was going to be a bride. Apparently, an angry one, but the very idea that she was going to be married certainly made the future look a whole lot brighter.

"So why is he traveling with you..?" He stared into her eyes.

"How should I know? I'm just a temp, anyway."

"Oi." A strong hand gripped Bow-tie Boy's shoulder. "Hello. By the way, did I mention? That particular redhead is with me. Why don't you run off and get yourself a nice…"

As Bow-tie Boy straightened, Donna's friend, the Doctor (or one of them), released him, looking a bit pale and a bit confused. Without another word, he reached into his jacket for his universal remote—sonic screwdriver—and skimmed a blue light over Bow-tie Boy. Hiding the tool away, he faced the silent Time Lord.

"Blimey, what a gigantic forehead you have. Not our best look. Do you know what? I saw Six this morning at the airport. That coat looks worse now than it did back then. Is that a bow-tie? Homage to older days, I'd imagine." He placed an arm around Donna's shoulders, half-addressing her like he was an old man reminiscing about growing up on the farm. "Back when I was young, my sense of style was always hit and miss…at least, he…" And The Doctor nodded at Bow-tie Boy, "is color coordinated."

"Lovely." Donna said quietly, not bothering to hide her sarcasm.

The Doctor smiled his grin that would make the Cheshire Cat jealous and turned his attention to Bow-tie Boy. "If a bit boring. You are a bit boring bland, you know, in that tweed."

"Tweed is cool."

"It's really not though." Donna added quickly, hoping to imbue the boy with some genuine truth about what was cool and what was not. He seemed to not have the slightest clue.

"Right then, we'll be off." The Doctor tightened his grip on Donna, and began steering her away. Donna stumbled slightly, feeling like the dumb child in a room full of geniuses or the one sane person in a room full of mental patients. Either way, it wasn't pleasant. Especially, because, some Dalek-whatsa-ma-bob, had targeted her to meet the Doctor. Was that bad? Wasn't it bad to mess up the past?

Bow-tie Boy leapt in front of them, reminding Donna of a lonely puppy desperate to get its master's attention. "Normally, it's advisable to stay out of each other's path. Preserve the Time Line and all. But in this particular case, Doctor, history is not taking its proper course. I'm supposed to know Donna, and you're not supposed to. Not yet anyway."

"Actually, I think it's been established, I've known Donna for years. I just can't remember some of the encounters."

Moving closer, excited with the spastic joy that her friend seemed to experience, Bow-tie Boy gestured like a mad-man. "It's a bit of mystery, but I think if you give me some more time, I can work it out. As I see it, there are two possibilities. A. The universe realizes time is being altered, and is on some small scale, correcting the discrepancies, compensating for the changes by removing our memories. B. There is another force in the universe…"

"Dok-torrr!" A whip-thin redhead in a short tropical patterned skirt, heeled sandals and an unzipped red hoodie raced to Bow-tie Boy's side and latched onto his arm. She started talking in a fast-paced Scottish accent. "You'll never believe this, but there are aliens, dressed like tourists, in the lobby and they are up to something. And before you ask me, how I know they are aliens and how I know they are planning something, let me remind you I have been blue-box traveling for a while now. Can we go now, huh?"

"Amy, I'm in the middle of something… where's Rory?"

"Spying on the tourist's like I told him to. He'd be eating shrimp-cocktail and unaware if it wasn't for me. And until we know what they are up to..." She jabbed a scrawny finger, extending from the long sleeve of her hoodie, into his arm, as if for emphasis. "..We'd better not trust anything, yeah?"

"Off you go then." The Doctor said grandly. "Save the world. I'll be in room 305 if you need me."

"Right…well…" Bow-tie Boy paused, looking again at Donna's Doctor, eyes shifting underneath his heavy brow. He whirled suddenly on his friend, Amy, "Now, were these extraterrestrial tourists a bit round with zippers on their forehead? Or they might be using a shimmer… Pond, remind me to go to room 305, after this is over, I have a dodgy memory…but something important is going on…"

Donna watched him and his stick-thin little friend wander off the lobby. She glanced down at the Doctor's arm on her shoulder and shrugged him off, letting her frustration bleed into her voice. "You can let go of me, you big dunce."

"Kamyssa, the Traken statistician, said there was a lovely view of the stars from the northern balcony. By the way, did I mention that's where Huddle parked his brand-new Vimilintii Star-Charger? That's sort of like a massive SUV or safari vehicle for exploring the stars, supposed to have the most advanced sensor-system of the 61st century…"

"I've just been told that 'your life is being manipulated by Daleks' by one of your rebirth Doctor things and you want to go look at _another_ bloody space-ship?" She stepped backward, squaring her shoulders. "Off you go then. Ogle some flying saucer's sensors. I'll be in my room, alone. Unless, destiny drops _another _Doctor into my lap."

"You really think—'someone's manipulating the time-stream to bring me and the Doctor together—I'll go wander away like every other daft assistant he's ever had'. That's a fantastic idea. Why let the Dalek's succeed, so we can see what their up to, when you can go have a girly emotional fit in your room."

"You could've told me there was a plan, you selfish big-eared idiot." She slapped him on the arm, hard enough to make her palm sting and leave a hand-shaped impression on his black jacket. But Donna Noble was angry. Angry that someone out there was targeting her, controlling her. Angry that the one person in her life, beyond her family and her friend Alice, that she really liked, that she felt important when she was with him, was only there because some distant Dalek-alien had bent the rules to make him meet her. She prepared another slap, this one aimed for his cheek.

He caught her hand, blue eyes staring down at her. "Plans are like well-thought out strategies. You can't just create a plan based on a sort of queasy feeling that things are in motion that shouldn't be and the random sputterings of an erratic half-mad past-regeneration and a naive-looking half-witted future regeneration."

"Are you telling me there isn't a plan?"

"Didn't I just say that? Humans! Thick-headed stupid apes, the lot of you! If there was a plan, if I had reliable data to base a plan on, do you actually think I'd be suggesting a moonlight stroll?"

"I don't know!"

"I don't know either!" He shouted back. At the disapproving, concerned or annoyed looks from the other space-explorers, he grabbed Donna's arm and jerked her out of the room. "You think I like this? Not knowing what's going on? Having no leads? Having no way of stopping what's happening? Having no way of knowing what will happen? I'm the Doctor. I can escape from anything. But destiny…?"

Donna felt herself soften slightly. If he was feeling as trapped, as clueless, as she was, then at least she could pretend he was sympathizing with her. Quietly guiding him toward the lobby, Donna suggested, "The other Doctor, Tweedy sweep-over bangs Time Boy, he seemed to know something."

"He's just verbalizing theories. Trying to look smart. But, look at him, he can't even cut his hair. Completely useless."

"Doctor, how can you hate…a…a you?"

"Easy. Six hated Five. Three hated Two. And most of the time, I hate them all. Hating is the easy bit."

"Self-hatred isn't healthy. My Gran used to say it's best to think more about other people than how wonderful or awful you are."

"And you bash people over the head with that incoherent advice? No, Donna. The point is, he's not going to be helpful, so we are on our own."

Donna sighed. Sure, she could see that the Doctor, in his smart leather jacket and confident attitude was embarrassed by his nerdy-looking replacement. But Bow-Tie Boy had been harmless and helpful, and mostly rational, unlike the other Doctors she ran into. And his theorizing out-loud was more comforting than the current sullen silence as James Bond thought deep mysterious thoughts about who-knows-what.

They entered the lobby, passing a tall rather-good looking bloke with reddish hair and cupful of half-eaten gritty-looking red-sauce. He was holding a limp shrimp in one hand and dully looking at a group of chattering tourists in horrid tropical shirts. Donna wondered idly if this young man was Amy's minion, and the tourists the "alien invaders". But the Doctor charged up a flight of stairs Donna had not used and she jogged to keep up, lifting her new dress high to keep from tripping on it.

"Oi, James!" She scrambled up the stairs, trying to catch up with his long-stride. "He might be useless, but I want to know what's going on, and he's the only lead we have."

He turned on the stair, somehow continuing to climb them backwards, looking impressive and angry at the same time. "Too much knowledge of the future takes all the adventure out of life. I have a lot of life left. I'd like to enjoy it."

"What do you think I want to do? Live miserably." She hollered up to him. "I don't want to be haunted by all of your crazy rebirths for the rest of time!"

"Trust me," he said, his eyes narrowing suddenly. "I've no wish to be with such a sour-noisy companion for all eternity!"

"I'll show you "sour noisy"…!" Donna shouted and charged at him again. But this time, he'd darted out into a balcony and was out of reach. By the time, she'd exited the hotel, her anger was slightly cooled. The sounding of rushing ocean waves, the chill of the wind, the smell of salt, and the beautiful lights of the city and the distant stars distracted her from her scrawny arrogant target.

It was even more beautiful than the view on Gramp's hill in Chiswick.

"I'd appreciate you not slapping while I'm trying to balance here."

"What?" Donna reluctantly drew her gaze from the splendor around her and focused on the Doctor's tall body, standing on the balcony's edge and waving his sonic-screwdriver in the air. "What are you doing up there? You could fall to your death… and, don't use that excuse that you'll always come back, neither of us wants you to turn into Suspender Sam."

The Doctor smiled sweetly. He jumped off, lightly, unashamedly…and in the wrong direction.

"No way!" Donna shrieked and rushed to the edge.


	11. Chapter 11

**Doctor Who**

Because Your Special**  
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_A Lot of Doctors in Space  
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He was standing on bloody air—floating in the middle of open space—on absolutely nothing! His feet were firm on something, like a solid nothingness, and he didn't bobble or waver like he was flying or hovering. It was almost as if there was some transparent magic-carpet beneath his feet.

The Doctor smiled up at her, a daft, pleased, arrogant grin. He had one hand in his pocket and the other was lightly swirling the air at his side with his sonic remote in smooth deliberate motions. "Coming then? Unless, I dunno, you've had enough adventure for one Christmas holiday?"

"Of course not, you idiot Martian," Donna retorted, recovering quickly from any compassion she'd felt when she thought her James Bond had committed violent dramatic suicide. Oh, this alien-man could make her angry. She leaned over the edge of the balcony, resting her belly on the cold marble, and stared down at him. "It's safe then…?"

"Donna…" He pocketed his sonic-screwdriver and then offered her a hand, strong and certain. It seemed to almost glow blue in the bright moonlight. "Trust me."

Donna kicked off her heels, although the marble tiles of the balcony were chilly against her bare-feet, she was not going to jump onto some invisible thing of unknown size with wobbly heels. She sat on the edge of the balcony, swung her legs carefully over the side and shivered slightly from the height or, possibly from the faint sea-breeze. She stared down at her friend. He seemed barely visible far below her pale toes. It was maybe three feet to six feet down to the Doctor. Donna wasn't sure, she'd never been good with actual distances but—if she'd had a ruler or a bit of a string, a pencil and a notepad, she could have figured it out—she was good at numbers. But however far the Doctor was, the ground was far below. From the balcony, she was at least six stories from the distant grassy ground.

Donna looked at the Doctor. He made her crazy. Absolutely crazy.

"Alright, Aladdin, but I ain't singing 'A Whole New World' with you." She dropped from the balcony.

There was a moment of absolute terror, but it was the confident fear that Donna had experienced on a roller-coaster, or when her Dad had tossed her into the air as a child. The sort of free-falling joy that went on for a mere second and then ended at the last possible second. She never doubted he'd catch her.

"Aladdin? I met him once, skinny little bloke with bad hair, and a greedy kleptomaniac. Found a nasty Grask stopped up in a large cask. The wretched thing soon convinced him it was a good spirit…" As his northern voice rambled on about the familiar child's story, his strong hand reached behind Donna's back, and pulled her closer. She assumed it was because she had landed too near the invisible edge, wherever it was, for the very next second, his comforting hand was gone and he was off muttering again. "Lovely set up, force-field slows down the speed of incoming missiles—so they cause less damage—only in this case, we were the missiles. If the balcony'd been a bit closer, we'd have less time to decelerate and splatted quite nicely—or broken a few bones…Look! A door."

He was fiddling at an invisible wall, patting it with one hand and scanning it with his sonic screw-driver. "Ah! A little jiggery-pokery…" There was a metallic snapping sound, a pale slit of light in the air, and a high-pitched hiss of air. A faint aroma seeped into the night air, something like spicy cinnamon and mustiness.

"Is this the…space-ship, then?"

"Fantastic, isn't she? Did I tell you, it's a Star-Charger from the 61st century?"

"Yeah. Fantastic." She smiled sarcastically.

He, however, was entranced in prying the door open, he failed to notice it. Pulling the door back with energetic glee, he winked over his shoulder at her before vanishing into the odorous cinnamon Star-Charger. Donna picked her way over the invisible…wing, wincing slightly every time her barefoot found a hard invisible bolt or weld.

"Donna!" He popped into view in the doorway, his shaved head aglow with warm light from the ship.

"Coming, coming," she tripped over the last few inches of transparent metal and was pulled into the warm ship.

The interior was sort of glorious, if one liked old beautiful things in deep vibrant colors. Soft oriental carpeting warmed Donna's feet. Beautiful renaissance paintings hung on chestnut-colored paneling next to tasteful modern art posters and Victorian silhouettes. It looked like there was a row of bookcases deep down the hall and a cozy pairing of leather couches next to a shiny tea-set.

"It's like a luxury-cruise or something."

"Trust Huddle to take the classic lines of something unique and wonderful, and turn it into something he thinks is cozy from his own preconceptions and biases."

Donna wasn't sure she understood what on earth he was jabbering about now. So she offered calmly, rubbing her feet into Huddle's nice plush carpet, "Home sweet home."

He shook his head and muttered something under his breath about stupid humans. She followed him deeper into the ship, into a gleaming control center that looked rather like the bridge of that famous can't-sink-sunk ship in that movie with Leonard Di Caprio. Donna admired a portrait of a Victorian gentleman with a little golden plaque beneath that read 'Benjamin H.S. Huddle, the Seventh'.

"Doctor, my dear boy, are you in the irresponsible habit of breaking into everyone's manor? Uninvited, unannounced and without a calling card?" A silvery voice came from out of the corner. A man with a pipe was sitting under a large tiffany-lamp with an over-sized book on his lap. With his curling mustache, tiny gold-rimmed spectacles, sharp-looking dressing robe and paisley-patterned cravat, and the cane resting on his arm-chair, he was the very picture of a Victorian gentleman at rest.

"Huddle." The Doctor's voice was a mixture of venom and irritation.

"Is that all you have to say, when bursting in on a gentleman in his unmentionables?" He self-consciously pulled his ankles beneath the chair. Donna could see he was wearing some sort of thermal or flannel-underpants. "And dragging such a young and innocent waif in your wake?"

The Doctor stared at him, face blank. "Okay," He licked his lips before turning his attention to the glittering control panel, suppressing something of a laugh, "you mean Donna…?"

"Not funny, James Bond." Donna said sharply and offered her hand to Huddle. "I'm Donna Noble."

"The name of a great Lady," He said softly, taking her hand gently, "It is a pleasure to meet you. What an enchanting outfit."

"Thanks." She said, softly, smirking slightly to herself. She checked on James Bond to see if he was noticing how a real gentle-man should act.

But, unfortunately, her friend was pecking at the control panel in the front of the space-ship, face bent low over the blinking lights. "Ah! Temporal manipulations everywhere in the area. Should have expected that. Coming from the ocean. That's not so…expected."

"A time-ship in the water?" Huddle supplied, eyes locked on Donna and kissing her hand gently. "I detected it when I first arrived for the guild-meeting. But, since I assumed it was a guild member's craft, I gave it no mind, Doctor Who—"

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

"We have a lot of Doctors in space, its only natural you should have a surname…even if it was created by myself."

"Egotistical explorers. The Doctor is it. Just _the_ Doctor. Have to keep explaining myself to the idiot humans…" The Doctor tapped at the console and paid Huddle no more mind.

"It'll take the old boy—and I do mean _old_ boy—quite a while to sift through all the sensor data. And, I, obviously must change so that I am more presentable for a lady's presence, please excuse me." He moved from his arm-chair, tucking the robe around him, "Make yourself at home. The small wooden box in the wall can make you some rather delicious neo-tea, if you would like… or feel free to explore my fine-art galleries. I have rather impressive collections."

"I'm sure I'll manage to keep myself entertained." She said cheerily, forcing herself to smile. All she really wanted to do was crawl into her bed and wrap the covers around her ears and dream of something normal. Adventure was fine, and all, sometimes even exciting, but Donna assumed people were more happy about it when they'd slept within the last nine or ten hours and hadn't experienced the plane-ride from the depths of hell. Not to mention everything else.

"Sensor data?" She said quietly, leaning over James Bond's back, and staring at the little colored numbers on the white screens. Really big numbers with a lot of points and strange characters between them. Donna was good with numbers, but it didn't look like she could be much help here.

"Don't try the neo-tea." He glanced up at her, eyes distant as if still focusing on the numbers dancing about his head, "It tastes rather like raxacoricalfalipotorious swamp water."

"Seriously?" She asked, but he was back into his work.

Uninterested in art or swamp-flavored tea, Donna sat in Huddle's recently vacated chair and pulled the still-open heavy book onto her lap. It was a beautifully illustrated version of that old book, _The Time Machine_, and the pictures shimmered with some-sort of alien light. Carefully tapping at the image, Donna activated something and a three-dimensional image popping with color projected itself from the book. It was better than a pop-up book, but same basic concept. Funny to think of that dignified old gentleman reading a pop-up book before bed.

Donna yawned and flipped to the next page.

"Oi…" Donna gasped, eyes popping open at the sudden sharp thwack of something heavy on metal. She didn't know where she was and for a moment was afraid the plane was going down and she'd drown or be burnt like her Mum's toast…But, apparently she was still dreaming because she was inside the Titanic and her tall friend from the bar was standing against a wall, arms crossed and staring at her.

"You dropped Huddle's book."

"The what…?" Donna mumbled. When she dreamed about James Bond, that usually wasn't what he said to her. Then she noticed the pop-up book on the floor, half-open like a decrepit teepee and the three-dimensional projections crushed against the metal tiles. "Oh….so you're finished with data sensors?"

"Sensor data. Yep. Off to bed now, I think. Don't often wait to solve mysteries until morning but you look awful, no matter what Huddle says."

"What does Huddle say?" Donna asked automatically, replacing the fallen book on its stand and rising from the chair. She crossed the floor to her friend and rubbed at her eyes and the bridge of her nose.

"That you look like a flame-haired angel."

Donna snorted. "That's nice of him." _Untrue,_ she added mentally, _but nice_.

"He's gone to bed, himself. Didn't want to speak to me anyway, so no point in him staying up if you're asleep." The Doctor untangled his arms and began walking towards the door to the open sky again.

"He lets you play with his space-ship while he's in bed…?" Donna asked, lurching after him rather stupidly. Her feet had fallen asleep and she blinked against even the dim-lights of the ship's hallway.

"Of course. I'm the Doctor."

"Yeah." Donna supposed she was supposed to have a better, more dramatic reaction to that. But there did seem to be "a lot of Doctors in space" as Huddle put it. Donna followed her friend outside the ship's door and onto the invisible wing again. "How we gonna get up to the balcony again?"

"Thought about that. Jiggery-pokery and…" he wandered into the middle of nothingness and aimed his universal screwdriver at the transparent floor. The Doctor motioned her over. "…new knowledge of star-cruiser tech. Careful, the edge is to your right, Donna."

Donna walked in a careful straight path to him, ignoring the sharp bites and scrapes to her toes as she crossed over to him. She hopped onto his shoes. "My feet are cold."

"Why do all you human women have to be so sensitive?" He muttered, wrapping an arm about her waist and directing a sonic-blue blast of some sort to the floor. The invisible wing, or at least a section of it, rose into the air until they were even with the balcony. He boosted Donna to the railing, where she sat, feeling rather drained and blank, as he scrambled, after a few unsuccessful attempts, up after her.

"You all right?" He said, rather breathlessly.

"Me? Yeah."

James Bond twisted his remote universal sonic-thing in the air over her abandoned heels and then latched them onto her feet. They were surprisingly warm. She supposed it was because he'd flashed blue-light on them…which did something…apparently.

The Doctor removed his leather jacket and put it on her shoulders, lifting her up from her sitting position and guiding her inside the hotel. "You've gotta walk to you room now, Donna."

Donna jerkily moved down the corridors, blinking to keep her eyes open. They took an elevator down, she thought, and then some stairs up and walked around in circles for a bit, and then the Doctor unlocked her door and gently shoved her in.

"Nice of you to walk me home, James." She said, managing to fall onto her bed rather than the floor. Donna laid there, vaguely aware that she was wearing a very expensive, very wrinkled dress, with a tight hair-pin embedded in her skull and open-toed heels dangling from her now toasty feet.

Someone tugged off her shoes, rummaged in her suitcase and made some nervous, uncomfortable sighs and "tsks" and, moments afterwards pulled a pair of fluffy pink socks on her feet. Donna rolled over, and stared dazedly into the Doctor's face.

"…James?"

"Right, then, that's all I'm doing." He said defensively, tucking a blanket around her feet and pulling it to her chin. "If you want to change into your nightdress, you'll have to do it on your own."

"…Are you gonna go again?"

"Go where, Donna?"

"Traveling in time and space with Rose."

"Yeah. Probably. Unless I get murdered by Daleks or something and never pick her up from holiday."

Donna turned on her side, pulling a pillow from its blanket-enfolding prison and yawned dramatically. "Good night, James."

"Donna…I was going to ask…" His hand touched her hair, softly, almost like her Dad's touch. Donna felt safe—even with everything that had happened today—and relaxed even more. The Doctor sighed softly, "Don't worry about it, eh? It can wait until morning."

Donna heard him leave and settled farther down into the plush mattress and lovely sweet-smelling pillow. Her last thought, vague and half-formed, was that whoever Rose was, she was a rather lucky person.


	12. Chapter 12

**Doctor Who**

Because Your Special**  
**

_A Changeling of Mythology  
_

_

* * *

_

Donna's eyes snapped open. Something wheezing, the sound a car would make if it had lungs that were thick with phlegm, mixed with a sort of metallic grating sound. It wasn't the unusual sound that woke her though, but the flashing blazing white beaming through the slats in her window's blinds. Carefully, sitting and wiping at her eyes, half-afraid this was some really weird nightmare and half-afraid that there had been some sort of horrible car-crash or some odd alien machine was passing down the road.

However, there was a square shadow cast on her window, proving that whatever had just arrived, whatever was glowing like twenty trees on Christmas day and whatever was wheezing with that distinctive sound, had landed on _her_ balcony. The mysterious shadow was larger than a telephone-booth, not that one saw one of those much these days, and the churning light was streaming from its top.

Something hit the balcony's glass doors, causing a firm sound to echo in the room. The blinds swayed as the shadowy solid rattled against the doors, hitting them repetitively. Donna swallowed, pulling the blanket around her middle and laid very still. She had this vague hope that, perhaps, if she laid still, she could waken from this dream, or at least escape the intruder's notice. Her skin had begun to crawl at the back of her neck and tingly uncomfortable feelings began spreading up and down her shoulders.

"Blast!" Came a masculine voice and the glass doors were rattled more violently. "I can't get through!"

Were one of those alien-things—maybe even the scary Dalek-things—coming to attack her? The voice, irritated and unmistakably English, sounded human but then again, James Bond, for all his big-eared weirdness, looked pretty human. But, at least her alien friend, didn't land on her balcony, insistent on getting in.

Donna, usually ready to attack when threatened, found her anger mingling with deep dread. She had no pepper-spray, thanks to half of her luggage still being in the airport, and she wasn't even sure where her heels were. Isn't that what one did, when attacked? Stab people with your heel's spikes? Darting off the bed, landing in a graceless sprawl on the carpet, legs twisted in her blanket, Donna desperately began patting around her for her shoes.

"I say, did you hear…" The voice added, his voice though slightly muffled, rang through the glass and the banging ceased as the alien, or whatever he was, listened on the other side. As Donna ducked behind the bed, holding still and quiet, there was a moment of perfect silence and then the glass door began rattling more insistently. "Open up in there!"

"There is obviously no one at home, young man!" Came an imperial, aged shout, from somewhere in the distance. Perhaps someone saw her distress, and was calling from the window of another building? But there was no building across from hers, not for a good distance…and the voice wasn't that far away. "Come away from the door and let the child try. She is much smaller. Some science-teacher that man is—trying to squeeze himself through, even though it is obviously impossible."

The doors rattled once more, a final gesture, and then someone else was at them. This time, tiny girlish hands, somehow creepy the moonlight, were laid flat against the glass, smoothing down them as if to look for a secret latch or entrance point. "The door is locked, grandfather…" The soft voice was like that of some unearthly child, like a changeling of mythology, "but someone… is in there…"

Eyes locked with hers and Donna realized she'd moved her head into view so that she to see the new intruder. She bolted for the door to the hallway. Whoever they were, they wanted in and they weren't natural. Donna flung back the door, intent on reaching The Doctor.

There was another ungodly sound, that horrid creaking sighing sound of metal and age, and a rush of wind sped down the hallway. Donna almost had the feeling she was standing on a train platform, waiting for the rushing clang of some ancient steam engine to finish passing, battered by the wind left in its wake. But this wind proceeded something…something was flicking into view, a square-ish outline growing clearer and clearer with every sputtering wheeze.

"Oh my god," Donna slammed the door shut, locking the deadbolt with cold fingers, "it's an invasion. They're everywhere!"

There was another desperate clatter at the windows. "We should smash the horrid thing. Shall I fetch a chair?" Came a female voice from the balcony behind her.

"Be practical, Barbara…" The first man was speaking again, but Donna, in her dash to her bed-stand, was too busy listening to her own pounding heart and racing thoughts, to pay any attention to their argument.

No phone.

Why have a phone in a posh hotel? Not certainly for case of emergencies. After all, everyone had their own mobile nowadays…her mobile!

Donna dove to her luggage pile in the corner.

"There's that woman again." The alien girl at the window, hands cupped over her eyes, stared into the room at Donna. "Won't you let us in? We are trapped, you see."

"Not on your bloody life!" Donna shouted, tearing through her bags. How could she have lost it? Where had she put the slim chunk of plastic that could save her very life? "I had better have minutes!" But minutes didn't matter because as she continued to search, she realized that her cell-phone was nowhere to be found.

Swallowing down her fear, she went again to the front door, opening just a crack. A man was standing outside her door. The long scarf, long nose, tremendously curly black-ish brown hair and the oddest face confirmed to Donna, that this other intruder—must be in league with those on her balcony—or at the very least, be an alien.

"Ah," the alien said in a sonorous tone.

"Ahh!" Donna screamed back. Something about the low languid sound of his voice, sent chills down Donna's spine, and his ghastly wide smile and dazed deep-sunken eyes made her recoil. It was almost like some unstable adolescent, with mental illness, had taken possession of a homeless man. Or something. She didn't know. But she didn't like it.

After observing her with a rather sullen, confused expression, he smiled like a deranged ghost. He began patting his pockets. "Would you like a je…" his voice trailed off as his head bent into his chest as he continued searching his clothes, but his head popped back up again as he added, "baby? I… have them about here…somewhere…"

Donna slammed the door in his face. "Okay, no going out. No phone…"

The banging continued on the glass at the other end of the room.

"Stop that rattling," She screamed at the intruders, "or I'll rattle you in a minute!"

Of course, they were separated from her only by a fragile inch of glass, and probably had laser-pistols and fancy universal sonic blasters. A few slaps, or a few brave insults, was not going to slow the aliens down, if they really wanted in.

The unnatural child, hands still pressed against the glass, stared at her with deep dark eyes. She showed no sign of moving or even thinking of retreating.

A knock came at the door at Donna's back. "Nobody's perfect, not even me—which is surprising really—but I really am a very nice chap. Perhaps, young lady, if you opened the door, you could help me find…"

Donna lurched away from madman's voice, eyes falling suddenly on the firm solid form of the great big blue-box. The Doctor's box, the time-ship of the Time Lord, and she reached for the handle. There was something perfect, about the coolness of the metal in her hand, the blue wooden door in front of her, like she was coming home. And she wasn't surprised when it opened and let her into the shadowy cavern-like control room.

As soon as the door closed behind her, the sound of entreating strangers, rattling doors and knocking fell away.


	13. Chapter 13

**Doctor Who**

Because You're Special

_All Scarves and Candy_

* * *

The Doctor awoke suddenly, rising from the hotel bed with a gangly leap and yanked the door to the hallway open. He was still fully clothed.

In the hall, yes, near to Donna's door, was a familiar blue police box, although slightly less weathered and aged than his own. Another TARDIS. Or, he noted the bohemian-like man standing at Donna's door, rather the same TARDIS.

"Hullo!" He called rather cheerily, grinning broadly.

His younger, more hairy, counterpart, lifted his chin from its cocoon in his long scarf to look at him. A sudden wild maniac grin appeared on the man's face. "Helloooo," He began walking toward him, hand pulling a wrinkled bag of sweets from his pocket, "I'm the Doctor. Would you care for a jelly baby?"

The Doctor had to laugh at his younger-self. "Fantastic, you're all scarves and candy and…you know what? You were one of my favorites…" He reached for the offered bag of candy and popped a few in his mouth at the same time.

"Am I? Well, that's certainly something. A good something, I trust." And he smiled that wide enigmatic grin again. "Could you please tell me where… and when I am…?"

"Right." The Doctor consulted his watch, as if he hadn't the slightest idea that this was more than a 'what is the time' question. "Spain, 1:05 A.M. on December 23rd 2007."

"Ah…Earth. Again."

"Can't seem to escape it?" He asked innocently, knowing how many times a random landing of the TARDIS sent them to earth. It wasn't even as if he programmed it for "more earth than is rationally possible". She just seemed to like landing on the back-water little blue planet.

"Doctor?" A woman's voice came from the TARDIS's door. He knew who she was before she even exited the time-ship. Sarah Jane Smith. His best-friend…even after all these years, and even though so much time had passed, since he'd last seen her. She smiled at him, a vague surface-level smile, with no sign of recognition and then turned to his forth incarnation. "You should have told me we had landed."

"You know how it is, Sarah. People to go, places to see. Unfriendly red-heads to meet. Jelly baby?"

"I already told you, you keep eating those things like that and you'll lose your teeth? Do you want to be a toothless time-lord?" Sarah Jane scolded lightly.

"Not especially, no."

She shook her head, an affectionate gesture for the strange, often grumpy Time Lord at her side. Sarah turned to him, introducing herself with a wide smile. "I'm Sarah Jane Smith."

"Nice to meet you, Sarah." The ninth Doctor took her hand, holding himself back from hugging his old friend, "I'm…James Bond."

"You don't look like Sean Connery." Sarah Jane replied with a laugh, squeezing his hand before releasing it.

"I get that all the time. It the ears, right?"

"I didn't mean to…"

"Ears aren't everything." The other Doctor added thoughtfully, "If they were elephants might have survived extinction in the year…"

There was a loud clank that came from the staircase down the hall. "Watch it! That is delicate equipment! Do you want to remain trapped on Earth for all time?"

"I'm sorry, Doctor." Came the replying whine, "but I'm losing my grip. I told you I couldn't carry it all."

The staircase door banged open, and in a burst of mismatched colors and gold curls, another Doctor strode into the hallway. "Come along, Peri! You are carrying exactly as many time rotator couplings as I am!"

"Did we really have to buy seven of them…?" The petite brunette complained, thin arms buckling under the weight of several long metal boxes. "I can't carry as many as you…"

"Because you're a weak and pathetic woman, or because you are an insipid and useless human? Hmm? Which card are you going to play now?" Artfully balancing his own boxes, the sixth incarnation of the Doctor unlocked the door to a hotel room and vanished inside before reappearing to rip the remaining boxes from Peri's arms. "And, naturally, we must buy spares. We don't want to be prevented from our explorations and adventures again by a silly thing like a busted time rotator coupling! Forced to rely on the antique flying machines and irritating stewardesses of earth. Not to mention poorly trained pilots too medicated on caffeine to fly the aircraft proficiently. Hah. Hardly the ideal method of travel."

Peri rubbed her arms, crossed them, and said with an insincere agreeableness, "Whatever you say, Doctor."

"Time rotator couplings." The Doctor repeated from his doorway, looking over the fourth's regeneration's floppy hat as best as possible to watch the odd couple of the sixth Doctor and Peri. He remembered calling Celino from where the Tardis had landed in England, buying tickets to Spain, parts of the plane ride, picking up the couplings at Celino's…but he couldn't recall Donna. Yet, that regeneration, had met Donna. Why didn't he remember?

"Do you know them?" Sarah Jane asked him, in her prim, precise voice.

"Nope. Not in this lifetime." The doctor said with a grin, feeling slightly unsure what to do with his hands because he'd left his leather jacket in the hotel room. Pockets really were such a good place to put them. He crossed them instead, tucking his fingertips into his armpits.

The sixth Doctor, his hands full of Peri's boxes, turned slightly at the sound of their voices and his eyes brightened when they caught sight of his old companion. "Sarah…Sarah? Sarah Jane!" He rushed across the hall, boxes falling to the carpeting with dull clangs and thuds, and wrapped his heavy arms about the unsuspecting young woman. Hauling her into the air, he spun her about. "I haven't seen you in ages! My dear Sarah Jane Smith!"

He dropped her rather unglamorously again, keeping an arm around her shoulders. "Peri, this is my best-friend, Sarah. Oh the memories! Sontarans, Cybermen, robot-mummies and those—what we they called—aliens. Those alien…do you remember the ones the large bubble-wrap slug bugs. Wirrens! That was it! Narrowly escaped them, good thing for that ventilation shaft!"

Sarah emerged from his embrace rumpled and wide-eyed. "Are you…?" She moved away from her exuberant, reminiscing attacker, "Are you the Doctor…? Another what-are-they-called…one of the regenerations?"

"I have the pleasure," The sixth Doctor said in a pleased tone, straightening to his full height and clasping his hands in front of him, "of being the sixth regeneration. A timely change, I assure you," he paused, adding rather conspiratorially, "my previous regeneration was simply not me."

"Well," Sarah tried to recover from the unfortunate hugging, "It's nice to meet you. What an…interesting coat."

"Could do with a scarf though, couldn't it?" The fourth Doctor interjected, looking at the strangely dressed incarnation with critical, solemn eyes. He leaned a bit closer to Sarah, "A rather wide one, no doubt. I do have a spare in the TARDIS."

"A scarf. A scarf? A _scarf_! I have no need of a scarf. Running about the universe rescuing civilizations, tripping every step I take? Entirely unpractical. A scarf is the most absurd, unpragmatic item of superfluous value that has ever graced the neck of a renegade Time Lord."

"Ah. Yes. But the same could be said of that cat-pin on your lapel." The fourth incarnation turned to Sarah, bending down to speak to her, "Judgmental fellow, isn't he?"

"Oh whatever rubbish the scrawny clown speaks, I care not, for I am most pleased with this regeneration. A true friend with any sort of taste would agree. What do you think, Sarah?" The sixth Doctor preened, fluffing his blue, white spotted ribbon-tie at his neck and settling his hands on the lapels of his jacket, as if for inspection. From his bright eyes and satisfied smile, this Doctor seemed to expect a positive reply.

Behind him, Peri, his unwillingly patient companion, rolled her eyes, kicked some of the sixth Doctor's spare time-rotator couplings out of her path and shut herself in the hotel-room. Obviously, she didn't care for _her_ estimation of the Doctor's new regeneration to be compared to the estimation of his old companion.

"You seem to be," Sarah Jane paused, "rather less color-coordinated than others."

"Never mind the coat."

"How can we not mind it, when it's staring at us…" The fourth Doctor interjected, looked untrustingly at the garish garb, "or is it glaring at us? Sarah likes things all one color. Very odd habit."

"Right then," The Ninth Doctor said rather loudly, deciding he really didn't want a long reunion with his younger-selves. After all, it was nostalgic for a bit but his younger version's arrogance was often off-putting. "I'm off. Big day of adventure ahead of me. By the way," he pointed toward Donna's door, "My friend is sleeping in that room. Try not to wake her. She's a bit on edge at the moment."

"Yes." The fourth Doctor smiled, "Rather unfriendly lady, still, we can't have everything in life, can we, Sarah?"

"Yes, of course, Doctor. And one of the important "everythings in life" is the friendliness of complete strangers who only want to rest on their vacation." Sarah Jane retorted in that playful, tongue-in-cheek spirit, that the Doctor still missed sometimes. Her eyes were twinkling with good humor. "We won't bother your friend, sir." She turned back to her Doctor, "Well, Doctor, we have landed. We might as well explore."

"An excellent suggestion!" The Sixth regeneration's bombastic voice was a lot more painful to the Ninth Doctor's ears than he'd remembered. But then again, one's voice always sounded different in your own head.

"Now, Doctor, I shouldn't wonder that you would like a good bit of exploration on your own, or rather with your own friend." The Fourth Doctor, while he physically looked as calm as ever, seemed to be speaking a little faster than normal. "You know what they say about threes."

"Three's a cord that cannot quickly be broken?" Sarah suggested.

The fourth Doctor stared down his long nose at her, and lifted the brim of his large hat back a bit, silent and displeased. Noticing this, the Sixth Doctor placed his hand on his lapels and turned to Sarah Jane.

"I believe he is referring to 'Two's a company and three's a company'. Very well." The blond Timelord sighed dramatically, "I suppose I'll go listen to Perpegillium whine about life in general and drag her out on another unwanted adventure. It was so much easier in the older days when companions were actually good company…" Dramatically, and surprisingly gentlemanly, the Sixth Doctor bent, took Sarah's hand and kissed it before backing down the hall. It was then that he noticed the boxes fallen on the floor. "Peri! Whatever have you done to my couplings! I told you to be careful!"

"Goodnight." The Ninth Doctor said, noticing that Sarah was looking up at her Doctor in confusion and rubbing at her kissed hand. He wandered over to the window, and for a moment, thought he saw a light flashing and swirling to the side of his balcony. Whatever it was, it was gone by the time he craned his neck out the window. He saw nothing else unusual for the rest of the night.


	14. Chapter 14

**Doctor Who**

Because You're Special

_A Scottish Midget, a Ginger Gremlin and a Creepy Time Lord_

* * *

Inside the TARDIS, Donna circled the glowing green column of light and metal and noted the switches and gears on the control. As a temp, she often had to sort out high-tech (or ancient) computers, printers, labelers and other gadgets without assistance. Because of this, she had learned to fiddle and push buttons until she forced the technology to give her the desired result. However, this console seemed both old and new somehow, and controlled a vast mysterious space-ship. As much as she was curious, Donna didn't touch anything. She just sort of leaned over the console and peered intently at the copper-colored knobs, battered little television screens and, what had to be Time Lord language—which sort of resembled hexagons half-eaten by hungry circles and squares—labeling certain mysterious features.

Maybe, if they finished scuba-diving, James Bond would give her a trip in this police-box. Less fashionable than first-class air-travel but entirely more interesting. Anywhere in time and space…it was sort of breath-taking. Donna gripped the console's edge, filled with a deep giddy joy at the idea of just leaving her ordinary life behind and taking off into outer-space, into that dazzling, terrifying adventure that the Doctor always stepped into. Donna turned, dragging her tired, emotionally confused body onto a tattered little couch. Finding a teeny aqua-colored hoodie hanging off the couch's back, she folded it into a pillow and tried to make herself comfortable. "Thanks, Rose." Donna patted the hoodie and closed her eyes.

It was so quiet in here. She heard nothing of the banging on glass at her window, the sound of the madman's deep voice or the sounds of the hotel or city. Whatever those wooden blue walls of the police-space-box were (and she doubted they were wood) they were marvelously soundproof. She hoped that meant they were bad-alien-proof too. Donna listened to the light the purring, thrumming sound coming from the resting space-ship. She wasn't sure if the "breathing sound" came from the green column or beneath the grill-work floor. It could be coming from something that served as the space-ship's engine or maybe the breathing was just that, the breath of a living space-ship. With the Doctor, she'd believe anything now.

Relaxed, Donna felt her body begin to sink into sleep.

Then, there was a horrible jarring of the space-ship and Donna was nearly tossed out of the couch. Clinging to the back, fingernails digging into the rough fabric, Donna listened to the unearthly chiming and clanging of some bass church bells coming from deep within the TARDIS. "

Oh my god," Donna burst from the couch, struggling to try and get to the doorway. Her Doctor need to be alerted that something was going terribly wrong. The idea of being trapped in a taking off blue-rocket-box—or, worse, an exploding one—was absolutely terrifying. Maybe it wouldn't be as scary if James were here, but as she wasn't any sort of special Time Lord genius, Donna didn't know what to do. She hadn't the slightest bloomin' clue how to fix whatever had gone wrong.

The metallic floor tilted crazily and Donna screamed as she slid back, slamming into the couch. Pain shot from up from her spine and she gasped. Unable to get enough of a foothold to rise from the floor, she dug her fingers into holes in the grating on the floor and tried to anchor herself. The spherical control room spun around her and that terrible, invisible, echoing bell continued its morose warning sound.

"Professor!" A youthful English voice, somehow a mixture of sweetness and boisterousness, came unexpectedly from behind the TARDIS console. Intangible, glowing, rippling and silver-outlined, the form of a girl appeared. Her long hair, tied back in ponytail, was a plain unimpressive brown. She wore a wrinkled black leather jacket that was spotted with something that looked like boy-scout badges. Oddly, the jacket had eighties-like thick, heavy shoulder-pads. "Professssooor!"

"….Yes, yes, I hear the cloister bell, Ace. No need to bellow. Let me see…" Another figure, silvery and strange like his companion, appeared inside the green-lit room. He braced himself against the console, trying to stay upright with the space-ship's shudderings.

Donna unlatched her throbbing fingers from the floor-grating and moved to cling to the couch, half scooting out of sight behind it, as best as she could. She observed the newest intruder. He was a dark-haired midget dressed in a strange brown and tan suit, with the rest of his outfit accented with bright red patterns and question-marks. Presently, he peered down at the controls, tilting his tan hat's brim up, to get a better look. "I wonder…"

"Hold up," The girl spun about, eyes darting over the TARDIS's walls. Looking confused, she tugged at her friend's sleeve. "Professor, the TARDIS is all…different. What's with those tree-things over there…?"

"Hmmm?" Her stocky, vaguely Scottish sounding friend barely looked up from his frantic tapping at the control panels. The professor shook his hand free and stared up at the large greenish column in the center of the console. "We're not moving through the vortex…"

The girl, Ace, punched the Professor in the arm and pointed to the wooden-like coral columns that ringed the room. "Never mind that we're parked, Professor. The TARDIS set off the cloister bell to announce an interior make-over! That's well odd, isn't it?"

"I don't think that was the…" The professor's words trailed away as he frowned at the controls in front of him.

Ace glanced around. Donna figured that a young girl who had so much life ahead of her should be little concerned about the fact that she was trapped in a space-ship that was having some sort of heart-attack or spasm. But Ace showed no signs of distress and was, actually smiling. "You have to admit though, the TARDIS's new look is a little _wicked_, Professor."

"Come now, Ace, it is not 'wicked'." The Scottish midget scolded mildly, sighing slightly, still staring perplexed at the bouncing controls before him. Half of what he said, Donna couldn't hear as he muttered to himself. "….hideous, dismal, coral theme...what's the point of themes, anyway? I suppose it was in that theme pack with the others Four bought…You really can't see a thing in all this gloom."

"I think it's well old, not all new and pale as death. Much better than being blinded by white-everything…" Finally drawing her attention away from the décor, Ace moved over to the Professor's side. "Have you sorted the problem, yet?"

"Yes. Unfortunately. I ran into a similar problem ages ago. Which is also why this "desktop theme" looks so familiar. We have crashed and merged into a future version of my TARDIS. And that is…" His voice trailed off and he wandered to the other side of the circular control-board. With a few sharp clicks of switches, the cloister bell faded and instead the room was color-tinted in a sickly wash of gray-lavender. The Doctor, which ever Doctor this clownish bloke was, tapped at some controls.

"You mean, all this time, we could have been traveling in something cool? Not in something that looks like it belongs in a hospital?" Ace's complained like a typical teenager. She had crossed her arms as if she was trying to look older and cooler than Ace knew she actually was. "Hold up, why'd you just change to the TARDIS's color-scheme to pink, Professor? Pink? Come on, nobody likes pink."

Even in the dire situation, Donna smiled wryly. Tell that to her Gran. That woman had loved pink with a passion that made Romeo and Juliet look like school-children with crushes. Of course, her Gran had also loved sardine and apple-jam sandwiches, so perhaps the woman's sense of taste was unique in the world.

Ace moved to follow the little man around the room. The Professor seemed a bit unnerved by Ace constantly, accidentally, ending up in his erratic path about the control room as he checked…well, whatever those controls were. He sighed irritatedly. "Ace, stop chattering for once and be observant! It isn't pink, it mauve. The universal color of distress. I switched all that clatter off for a color-alert instead."

"You've gotta be kidding me," Donna muttered. An ugly feminine color signaled an outerspace SOS? Space and time certainly was weird. She was, however, quite glad that the head-ache causing deep-throated banging of the "cloister bell" had stopped. What did cloister bells have to do with this blue-box-ship-thing anyway? Had this spaceship been an old monastery or something? Donna wouldn't be half-surprised if that were true because she'd noticed that, with the Doctor, the weirdest, unlikeliest things were suddenly entirely possible.

James's spaceship was not moving or spinning about as violently as before. Apparently, the professor had enforced some type of calm over the machine. Donna, still dressed in Celino's beautiful creation, slunk farther behind the couch and out of sight. Silent observation seemed best…at the moment.

"If both TARDIS's have merged, that's bad enough. But they have managed this partial merger with _both_ of our temporal shields stable and fully-functional."

Ace stared at the console as if it was as meaningless and mysterious to her as it was to Donna. "And that's bad?"

"What could it mean?" The man pulled his umbrella off his arm and placed it on one of the console's hooks, so that his umbrella hung next to a huge mallet.

Donna frowned. What was with all these other Doctors and their umbrellas? She tried picturing her Doctor with his leather jacket, carrying an umbrella and managed to come up with something. Donna's mental image was rather freakish. It was of her Doctor happily, unnaturally, dancing in the rain and swinging about lamp-post like Gene Kelly.

Ace was speaking again. "Well, whatever has caused this…it must be pretty powerful, eh, Professor?"

"Yes…I believe I'll make a time-traveler out of you yet, Ace. But your power for noticing the obvious a bit too late is still terrrribly distressing."

"Question is, how do we pull them apart without blowing them both into smithereens? I don't fancy being blown around the universe as tiny little bits."

"Nor I, Ace. My fifth incarrrrnation," he rolled his 'r's in a dramatic fashion, "was able to separate them by creating an explosion to cancel the implosion. But this area is riddled by fascinating time-distortions—I have never seen anything like it—so will the same trick work twice? I wonder…"

"Well, stop wondering and tell me if you need me to whip up some nitro-nine for that explosion for yours."

"That won't be necessary…" He paused, turning his head to stare into the shadows near Donna's location. He lifted his hat and held it mid-air above his head. "Hello there. I'm the Doctor and this is my assistant, Ace."

Donna checked behind her shoulder, just making sure there wasn't another Doctor at her back and that the Scottish Time Lord wasn't addressing him. One never knew where_ he_ was going to pop up these days. She rose carefully, shoving a handful of hair from her face and then grabbing onto the jumpseat as the TARDIS lurched slightly. Trying not to sound too aggravated, she managed a curt introduction. "My name's Donna."

"How do you do…Donna. The name Donna means 'lady', Ace—which might explain the dress." He smiled brightly, "For all our talk of bombs, we're really quite harmless."

"Unless you're a Dalek and then we show no mercy! Right, Professor?" She beamed at him, as if it was the two of them together to the end of the universe and back or some inside-joke.

"Ace, Ace, that's quite enough noise at this moment, please." He turned back to the console, staring at some screens and buttons and puzzling over them. "Donna, I don't suppose the Doctor—the future Doctor—is available for a consultation about delaying our impending doom?"

"He's not in the space-ship at the moment." Donna said, feeling like that bloody recording you always got on when someone wasn't in. A great useless space-ship answering service, that was about all she was good for at the present time. Her fingers gouged into the fabric of the seat as the ship rocked again. "Actually, we were just supposed to be on holiday in Spain, just scuba diving and then everything's gone…bonkers."

"You scuba dive, Professor?" The brunette teenager scoffed. Donna wondered, briefly, if Ace looked anything like that other girl that James Bond ran around with. For all James' talk of Rose, she'd yet to see the woman.

"Scuba dive? No. Not yet." The short man glanced up at Donna. "Can you be more specific? It might be important."

"Dalek—whatever they are and whatever they do and whatever they look like—are messing with the time-stream. Apparently, they've been trying to bring me—who knows why—and you—any of you Doctor-things—together. That's why you're seeing all the time-manipulations in the area, at least that's what the other Doctors have told me."

"Spain," The professor straightened, "Donna…I seem to recall nearly running you over."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, nothing. But why you?" His soft Scottish voice grew thoughtful, and his eyes grew distant. "Why would the Daleks find you so important?"

"Well, I don't know! I keep telling everyone that I'm not important and I'm sick of you outerspace-dunces pretending that I am!" She shouted back.

"Easy," Ace added, showing a little aggressive street-punk attitude in her attempt to be peace-maker, "We're all friends."

"Acquaintances at the least… No need to be at each other's throats." And with that quiet statement, the Professor turned back to the control-board.

There was a flickering, barely visible out of the corner of Donna's eye and she turned to see another indistinctive shape materializing. Beyond the glossy wavering silver outline and mystical radiance, Donna could see that it was another man. This one wore black, a weird alien robe with triangular shoulder pads edged in gold and a dark skull-cap on his head. He sort of looked like a combination between a medieval lawyer, and in body language—at least—one of those silly cartoon devils with a red pitch-fork and demon horns.

"You're wrong, Ace. No one is at each other's throats yet…but that doesn't mean there isn't a need for it." The man spoke with a smooth calm, and held his hands together in front of him like a monk. For all his outer tranquility, Donna could see fury and evil in the man's eyes.

"By Rassilon, whatever are you doing here?" The midget Doctor seemed shocked by stranger's entrance, but even more so by the man's face. It was like Donna was watching either two old foes meeting after assuming the other was dead or maybe some sort of terrible and unfortunate family reunion.

"Trapped in combining TARDIS's…same as you. We're all piled together into one combustible pile of technology and time-eddies. Unexpected, unforeseen, for you… old, rather boring history for me. Shall I make it more exciting for us?"

"Professor, who is this? The Master?" Ace moved a little closer to her friend, but tightened her hands into fists and maneuvered herself so that she could watch every move of the man in black.

"I'd rather not say." Ace's Doctor said in a bland tone, and reported from the screens on the console, "He's right. Three TARDIS's have merged. And since Donna is the drawing point of these time-incursions, it is her TARDIS that is the dominant one."

"So our TARDIS has been crushed and we've been dumped onto hers?"

"Only in appearance, Ace, our TARDIS is still here, all around us, merged in with Donna's…and…" The Professor narrowed his eyes, "…his TARDIS. We are able to interact because the merger has been so precise."

For some reason, the cold stare that the Scottish Doctor was giving the intruder, seemed almost menacing. It was weird. The little professor looked more like someone who would be on a listing of some university's teachers rather than some-sort of dangerous man. But the Professor, like most of the Doctors that Donna had encountered—especially hers and that rainbow-coated one—had that dark, cunning, powerful Time Lord look. She didn't know what to call it but the look was always there. Hidden under smiles and cleverness, maybe, but the look always spoke of ego and triumph and of violent last resorts. Seeing it so openly made her shiver.

However, the man in black saw the look and only chuckled. He cast his own Time Lord dark look in Donna's direction. His eyes were cold too. But they flickered about with energy, somehow putting into Donna's mind that he was a terrible villain. Powerful, intelligent, determined, self-righteous, an oncoming storm that destroyed lives without a backward glance.

Long words and jumbled phrases she'd never heard before tumbled about her brain, all about the Doctor, all about what he had been and would become. Foreign hateful fearful words that she'd known, always known, but were rippling to her from another place, another time. She blinked rapidly. She was going to be a bloody fruit-cake by the time all of this was over… a _bloody fruit-cake?_ That was a rather unappealing dessert. Donna shook her head slightly, trying to force her sleep-deprived brain to focus on what was going on before her.

In his shadowy corner, the new intruder was monologuing. "…a mere drawing point, a victim of destiny, is that all you are… Time Lady?"

"What are you blathering on about now…_Doctor_!" She shot back, naming him. She'd seen enough of the man, she'd seen enough of that _look_, to pick out that this black-wearing villain was another one of the Doctor's regenerations. Although, this one seemed to be the worse one yet.

"Such forged innocence," He smiled slightly, tilting his head, "Why deny what you are? What you will be? You've known it for so long…that you can change the world, that you can become brilliant and terrible as I am; and that frightens you, Donna Noble…as well it should."

"You're Gallifreyan?" The Professor stepped away from the console, moving over to take another look at her. Donna backed up until her backside hit the railing around the room, raising her hands as if to fend off both of the looks and accusations. Ace's Doctor stopped, while the other one—the bad one—stayed where he was, smiling triumphantly and staring at her.

"I'm nothing, I'm just a temp." Donna swallowed, hot tears splashing down her cheeks and she tried to determine what had caused them. Oh, right… fear.

"You're not really nothing." A new voice, masculine, smooth and higher-pitched, arrived in her ear. She could have sworn that she also felt hot breath against her neck. Donna jumped, seeing a true midget—small person—with bristly red hair and a cunning vile smile, balancing on the rungs of the railing. Besides his tiny creepy face and his sudden nearness, Donna also noted that he was not translucent like the others had been, but he moved with a slight jerkiness. It was like when someone was trying to watch a movie frame by frame.

"Who the hell are you?" She backed away from it.

"Don't you recognize me? You did such a good job just a minute ago. You must be losing you're touch 'Sunshine'. Must be this outfit." He brushed his hands across his chest, standing firm on the railing, like a little acrobat. As his fingers moved against his tweed jacket, the jacket vanished into a blue pinstripe suit with a long brown overcoat.

He glanced up, smiling horribly, "No? Not yet? Ah…time manipulation, the devil you know best is…" The little creature rubbed the pinstripes on his chest away and began replacing it with, Donna realized with fear and disgust, her James Bond's leather jacket.

"Donna, what do you see?" Ace's Doctor inquired, sounding puzzled.

"That's right, Donna, what do you see? An old friend, a traveling companion…or," he smiled wickedly, "the future?"

Donna back-pedaled until she reached the console and whatever safety Ace and the Scottish Doctor offered. "You want to know what I see? I see another of you horrid Doctors! That's all that I ever see! Well, you can lay off your threats, mate, because if you take one more step near me, I'll—I'll…" She grabbed the question mark umbrella from the console and jerked the point in the direction of the two new Doctors, her attackers, "I'll…club you!"

"Professor…?" Ace looked to her mentor for guidance. "There's nothing there, right? I don't see anything."

"Yes, most curious," The Professor wrenched his umbrella away from Donna, before peering into the gloom where Donna saw the little ginger demon. From the Professor's body language, Donna knew he couldn't see it. The Professor straightened, "Yes, yes, well, your own doctor will have to sort that out—I have to be brilliant, clever and rather marrrrvelous to save all of our lives from an explosion much larrrrrger than Belgium." With a doffing wave of his hat, the Professor turned his back on Donna and her fears and went back to the console.

Ace moved to Donna's side, looking at the new Doctor. Not the "invisible" red-haired gremlin, but his dark robed older "brother". Ace nodded at the villainous Doctor, "He gives me the creeps too." She called back to her mentor, "Don't you know any nice people, Professor?"

With a clucking, sighing sound from the console, the professor called out, "Ace, He's not people, he's me. Unfortunately."

"That's well creepy." Ace muttered and Donna could only nod in agreement.

"Maybe he just regenerated 'crrrreepy'." The Professor lectured, "I've regenerated classy, clownish and child-like at different times. Why not creepy?"

"Professor, I don't think outer-space heroes are supposed to be creepy."

"Who ever said anything about being a hero?" The black-robed Doctor commented flatly, tilting his head as he observed the women.

"Creepy." Donna and Ace announced at the same time.

"Stop it." The nice Doctor chided them, looking for all the world like he simply wanted to ignore the intruder and the intruder's effect on the two human women. Donna noticed a little blush in the Professor's cheeks. Almost as if that, by seeing this scary version of the Doctor, she had actually seen his deepest secret or sin. Like the Professor was ashamed of his future reincarnation, but, strangely, not frightened of it. The Professor leaned toward them, hands on the controls. "Crrreeepy as this regeneration is, I'm sure he will meet a nice assistant and redeem himself."

Ace frowned at the Scottish Doctor's claim and turned around to look at him. "Is that the way it usually works?"

"Almost always," The professor answered blithely.

"It must be that I'm not so nice then, Professor, 'cause you've gotten creepier the longer I've known you." There was an edge of anger and sorrow to Ace's youthful voice. She turned back to stare at the New Doctor, crossing her arms and trying to look tough.

"I hate to be the voice of common earth-sense, here _you stupid Martian!_" Donna couldn't help shrieking at the Professor, as she spat out her opinion, "but that Doctor-thing can't be _bloody redeemed_ by a good influence when he's obviously _psychopathic_!"

"Ah yes," The leprechaun-like Time Lord clambered over the railings edge and sat on it, like a naughty school-boy, "that's what I am, a psychopathic psychic projection created especially for you."

"_She doesn't understand,"_ the man in black's voice came like an eerie whisper inside Donna's skull as it conversed with the miniscule version of the Doctor, _"She doesn't can't comprehend that our future is her future."_

"Stop talking!" Donna shouted. She wasn't sure what was happening—except, of course, that her happy little vacation was turning into some sort of horror-film sci-fi nightmare—but she guessed that Time Lords were psychic. No. Wrong word. Telepathic. Anyway, having the voice of an evil alien in her head made her feel strangely isolated. It was the same feeling that she'd get if someone was crawling in the window of her apartment to hurt her and no one knew and no one cared.

"Donna…are you okay?" Ace spoke calmly, in a tone that had been perfected by psychiatrists and doctors and used when they addressed crazy people. Ace touched Donna's shoulder reassuringly. "Are you hearing voices now too?"

Tears splashed down Donna's face. Woodenly, she answered, "No. Not voices."

"_Dark threads,"_ The tall dark Doctor spoke again, a telepathic 'sound' that rattled against the insides of Donna's ears, _"coiled in my soil and casting shadows on your future…hmm…too poetic?" _He smiled silently, _"I'd be clearer but that would take all the intrigue out of this moment."_

The little Time Lord picked up the hinting monologuing seamlessly, "Our curse is your curse, Donna Noble. Our darkness is yours." The gremlin leered at her with his tiny eyes, "Or will be."

Donna glared back at the "ring-master" of her insanity, the tall and dark Time Lord-creepy. She scraped hot tears off her checks, "And what the flippin' do you want me to do about it!"

"Nothing." The shadowy figure smiled gently, speaking audibly for once. "I just thought I'd mention it."

Donna cursed. "Spice things up a little bit, eh?"

"Time Lords!" The professor called out, irritatedly, "all this telepathic flotsam is giving me a head-ache and I have three-TARDIS's to save single-handedly—unless someone is willing to help me out…?"

"I'm not a Time Lord." Donna said shakily, moving out of the Professor way to sit on the control room's jump-seat. She clung to the seat, clinging to the idea that she was just a temp too. Her? A Time Lord? One with psychopathic tendancies like her Doctor? Next thing the little psychic projection monster would be telling her was that he was her father in a Darth-Vader/Luke Skywalker moment.

"For the record," Ace muttered, moving out of the Professor's path as well, "I'm usually very good at figuring out our adventures all by myself, but this one is a doozy, Professor. Don't expect me to be able to sort it at the end."

The sweater-wearing Scottsman glanced up. His forehead was slick and there was a tense look about his eyes, but his voice was calm and quiet, "I believe… I requested silence."

The New Doctor chuckled. "Don't be so anxious, Seven. If we die, it really doesn't matter. Time will bend and flow and fill in the cracks."

"Thank you," The Professor noted sarcastically, "I'll be sure to calm Ace down with the comforting thought that even if we die, Time Lord's will correct the time-stream as best they can." Darting around the controls like a frantic madman, the Professor shouted, "We may all die horrrribly, Ace, but the universe will be saved!"

"Is that what Time Lord's do? I mean, the normal ones?" Donna couldn't help asking. If they were all going to die, she didn't want to die uninformed. "Keep the timeline on track?"

The New Doctor, the evil one, froze. For the first time, she thought he actually looked sad. He almost looked human, rather than a monster from the future. His eyes went to the floor. "Yes, when they are alive."

"I said, _silence_!" The Professor glared them all down. In the gloomy pinkish light, the expression on his face was no less than that dangerous look that Donna had seen recently on the other Doctor.

Donna closed her mouth and held on to the jump-seat as the TARDIS began buckling and spinning again. Ace grabbed a coral column and was hanging on for dear-life, the Professor braced himself against the controls best he could and their menacing "friend" creepily seemed to feel no need to bother moving to a safer position. The color-alarm, the ghastly mauve color, deepened like twilight.

"Interesting, isn't it? How my mood and personality changes as I fancy? An ever-changing storm, sometimes lightening, sometimes gentle rain." The gremlin, dressed in a black tuxedo, appeared at her side, lounging next to Donna. He placed his head in her lap and sprawled out as if to get comfortable. Unlike the rest of them, he wasn't real and the rocking motions of the space-ship did not affect him. But, for being a psychic projection, he felt heavy and solid against her legs.

"Get off of me." Donna growled. She was afraid to push him away and thereby lose her grip on the seat.

"It will all be over soon, Donna." The gremlin squirmed as if to snuggle down for a nap. He reached up and, too familiarly, patted her cheek. "It's been fun, though. Seeing you again."

Did he mean that they were going to die? But they had to live…right? This New Doctor came after the Professor…didn't he? So he had to survive this so he could become creepy and evil…what did that mean for her and Ace? Donna shrieked as a panel of grating fell from the sky and barely missed striking her.

"Professor!" Ace screamed. She had lost her grip and was rolling down the side of rounded wall, her body banging hard against the metal.

"Hold on, Hold on!" The professor flung himself into his work. His hat had been flung from his head and his sweaty hair was sticking up in mussed clumps. How he managed to stay upright was a mystery.

Donna thought of her Dad, Grandad, Mum, Alice…even that stupid cat that Alice had made her take in. Would they ever know what happened to her? She could picture her Mum bitterly recounting to everyone at the funeral, "I told her not to go to Spain…and look what happened…" Would her Doctor be killed by what happened here? By the deaths of his other selves? Or would the explosion take out the hotel and the town? All of Spain? All of Europe? The whole Earth? How big was Belgium anyway?

"They are separating!" Ace cried. Donna looked and saw that Ace had gotten a black-eye in all the tumbling but she was smiling. Slowly, Ace's form became less tangible and glowed with silvery radiance. "Blimey, Professor, you've done it! I can see our TARDIS!"

"It was simple…" The Scottish Doctor wiped sweat from his forehead, breathing out his words in a shaky voice. He released his death-grip on the console as the mauve lighting of the room turned back to a healthy coppery-green color.

"Simple?" Ace questioned before vanishing completely.

"Yes…all I needed to do was…" The Professor began fading, rippling with silver light before blinking out of Donna's TARDIS. Donna missed what he had done to separate the space-ships but since most everything was over her head these days, she figured she wouldn't have understood anyway.

She hoped that they had gotten back to their own white-TARDIS control room and that the odd pairing would have safer adventures in the future. The mothering part of her also hoped that the Professor would be aware enough to see Ace's black eye and treat it properly. Usually men weren't good at that sort of thing. Donna rose from her seat, rubbing her sore hands together.

"I see it is time for me to go as well." The Time Lord in black bowed slightly to her, and he began shimmering. Beside him, the red-haired gremlin stood. The New Doctor laid a hand on the projection's head, as if the horrible little monster was his child or a part of him. Who knows? Maybe that's all the gremlin had been—not another Doctor—but an imagined creation of the Creepy Doctor's sick mind. The Time Lord spoke again, "Take care, Doctor, I may try to kill you next time we meet."

"The doctor's already gone." Donna said harshly, nodding to where the Professor had just vanished. She ignored the way her heart was beating faster now that she was completely alone with this evil nut-job.

The New Doctor tilted his head, eyes meeting hers. He smiled wryly, "Is he? Or is he yet to come for you?"

"All this…nonsense…crazy Time Lord future-talk…was it just to mess with my head? Just to mess me up?" Donna rubbed her arms. She wasn't cold, but she didn't like the way he was looking at her. She didn't like him. And that was weird, considering how harmless and likeable most—well, at least some—of the Doctors had seemed.

"Maybe. I am a _psychopath_, after all." The Time Lord's face was only a faint outline now. In a minute, in a glorious minute, he would be gone for good. Back to his own vile little TARDIS with his vile little gremlin thing he made. The tiny monstrosity was also fading away, but before the creepy little man did, he bowed grandly and spoke, "Or maybe, it's a warning…"

Then they were gone.

The TARDIS door opened. Her Doctor's head popped in, the faint hairs of his buzzed hair glistening in the light of the morning sun. He smiled boyishly. "Hello, did I hear the cloister bell?"


	15. Chapter 15

**Doctor Who**

Because You're Special

_ Beanpole of a Prince Charming_

* * *

"…did I hear the cloister bell?"

Donna raced to her Doctor and slapped him soundly. Twice. "Did you hear the bell? Did you hear the bell!" She screamed, suddenly feeling better with a less frightening target for her rage. "It started going off hours ago? What? Can't hear with those big ears, dumbo?"

"Human women…" He frowned, adding flatly, "stop overreacting." He reached for her shoulders as if to steady her or calm her.

"Overreacting? I was half-way blown to smithereens! And a Belgium-sized chunk of Spain was almost…" Donna anger began fading and tears started pressing at the back of her eyelids. She grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and buried her face in his chest. It had been a rough night. Donna needed a hug, right now, from her Doctor.

"Right then," The Doctor said quietly, hesitantly putting an arm around her. "I assume the danger to the universe is past?"

"At least that danger…" Donna shoved him back, trying not to look like she'd been crying. Of course, the truth was stained on his jacket. "That little Scottish man—what did Ace call him?—the Professor, he sorted it."

The Doctor sighed, pulling a plaid handkerchief from a hidden jacket pocket and handing it to her. Instead of feeling gentlemanly, there was awkwardness to the gesture. Donna was reminded yet again that this Doctor was somewhat lacking in social skills.

She took the handkerchief, blew her nose into it loudly, handed it back and looked at him. "James…"

"Yeah…?" He stared at the wet handkerchief and then looked into her face. His eyes were blue, wise and sad, but Donna could see that darkness, the Creepy Doctor's darkness, behind them. It frightened her. It also made her terribly sad. He hadn't asked for that side of himself. The Professor had been ashamed of it, and Donna bet that James was too.

Donna felt a sudden surge of sympathy for the Doctor. It was the sort of feeling one got when someone you loved was in trouble and you'd give anything to make it better but you didn't know how. It reminded her of the heart-breaking sensation Donna felt every time she sat in the hospital with her Mum and waited to see how the Dad's surgery or chemo went.

A good assistant, the Professor had said, might let the Doctor redeem himself. It was clear that someone needed to save the Doctor—from his darker nature—or at least hold his hand to keep him from falling over the edge. But how could Donna make any difference? She was nothing. And certainly not strong enough to hold a powerful alien to a moral and sane life. Must be that was Rose's job…after all, the Doctor loved her. He wouldn't do anything to endanger Rose's affection. Rose would keep him sane.

Donna cleared away all the chaos in her head and gripped her Doctor by the arms. "I don't know how to tell you this…"

"I'm not the Father!" James announced, his eyes wide.

"What?" Donna froze, struggling to follow his train of thought. "What in, time and space, are you babbling about?"

"You were just going to…" And he froze as well. As if he wasn't sure exactly why he'd automatically gone to whatever awkward conclusion he'd reached. Donna had never actually seen a grown man blush but she thought she saw some redness about his cheeks and ears. But why?

She laughed, almost hysterically when she finally realized. After the night from hell, this was too much. "You think I'm pregnant? I don't even have a boyfriend…Don't be daft."

"Fine then," The Doctor said irritatedly. His manner at that moment would have been called pouting if he wasn't a heroic-alien thing. "Glad we have that established."

"And why would you think, _that I think,_ that you're the father? We're not…" Donna paused, flustered even as she giggled to herself, "we're not a couple."

"Never." The Doctor added immediately.

That stung a little. Donna squared her jaw. Of course, she didn't want to be romanced by an alien that was pretty much stalking her—and he was a beanpole of a Prince Charming to begin with—but it always hurt when someone reminded Donna that she was only average looking. Mum did it all the time, Nerys, random men she tried to take out on dates…so really, she should be used to it. Besides, it wasn't like she wanted to win beauty pageants. "Never ever. 'Cause you're just an alien and I'm not into aliens."

"Good."

"Fine." Donna replied snappily, "But need I remind you, oh savior of the universe, that I wasn't the one who brought up the topic."

He blushed slightly, but only spoke with a flat tone and aggressive body-language, "You were really drunk last time… by the way, I don't run about with pregnant women. Its domestic and I don't do domestic."

Donna feeling snappy, retorted, "Why? Cramp your style?"

"Yes, actually." There was something guarded about his expression.

"No. I think we can safely rule out pregnancy as the big secret discovery I've made tonight." Donna brushed some hair out of her face. "I think—maybe—I don't know really…but, I think I'm a Time Lord."


	16. Chapter 16

**Doctor Who**

Because You're Special

_Some Cricket Fanatic_

* * *

Donna was going to kill that man. He never answered her questions. He was pompous and arrogant. He took turns treating like she mattered to him and then that everything she said was stupid. A stupid human female. She scrubbed her teeth a little harder, staring at herself in the mirror. Maybe she was stupid, but she was every-bit as valuable as a Time Lord, thank you very much.

"Time Lords," Donna spat into the hotel room sink, "lording all their knowledge of time and space over us humans. No wonder the Doctor likes this planet, he can treat everyone like their beneath him because _they 'are _beneath him'. I'm gonna kill that man."

It wasn't that Donna was unhappy with the Doctor's instant conclusion that she couldn't be a Time Lord and that she was silly for thinking such a thing. Who wanted to be a Time Lord? It was just his attitude about it. The way he'd shot the idea down and swanned off to rent scuba-gear. He hadn't even explained why it was impossible or why his future self would claim such thing.

Donna wiped her mouth and began applying her makeup. She looked like she'd been dragged through the woods by a bear, with tired circles under her eyes and her hair—although freshly washed—still looked like wet dark auburn tangle about her face. As soon as she and James Bond solved the mystery of her "magnetic" Doctor-attracting qualities, but, not that they were attracting all 'couple-like'…perish the thought…. they would put an end to this "haunting" and she would be able to sleep some. Maybe she'd actually be able to enjoy her holiday.

Donna heard a strong knock at the door and wrapping her hair in a towel, she padded out in her slippers. Glancing through the tiny peephole, she only saw two normal looking young women in maid's uniforms. People actually still wore those black-dresses with the silly white aprons?

She opened the door. "Hello?"

The first maid, a delicate looking woman with a pixie-like face and loose brown curls, smiled cautiously. Her voice sounded educated and melodic, "We would like to service your room, please?"

Donna lifted her eyebrows and quirked her lips to the side. She shared a quick glance with the second maid. Maybe the first maid had only recently learned English, but her clearly British accent made the awkward phrasing of the question seem curious.

"What she means to say is…" The second maid, a brash sounding Australian woman with a curly teased hairdo that could have only come from the late seventies, jabbed her shorter friend in the side with an elbow. She leaned a bit toward the door, as if trying to peer inside. "We're room service."

"I'm fine." Donna noted the poorly stocked cleaning cart in between the two women. Clenching one hand into a fist, she tucked it behind her back. Why did she always get into trouble the moment the Doctor disappeared? She figured she could take both of the pseudo-maids, if it came to it, but she didn't particularly relish the thought. Donna plastered a smile on her face, "How 'bout just some clean towels?"

"Well…" The Australian maid seemed shocked by Donna suggestion and tried to cover the abnormal reaction. But because she did it so badly, Donna became even more suspicious. "Well…that'd be something. Less work for us, I suppose. Nyssa, give the nice lady some towels."

"But we haven't got any, Tegan." The confused child-like woman said quietly.

"Silly, us…we'll have to come back with them." The second maid, Tegan, grabbed the cart's handles and began pulling it away from Donna's door. "Poor customer service, Nyssa, that means no tip for us…"

Nyssa trailed after her friend, questioning, "What is 'tip'?"

Right. Not maids. Not maids at all.

Donna slammed the door shut, locked it, shoved a chair against it and unburied her cell from her yesterday's pants pocket. Since she didn't have the Doctor's number, she called the front desk. "Hello, this is Ms. Noble in room 206. Do you have maids called Nyssa and Tegan working here? Because there were some characters up here trying to con their way into…"

Her door opened with a bang, the chair flying into the walls and smashing. A man strode in, wide-eyed, youthful and confident. While Donna was too busy ducking behind the bed, clutching the phone to her ear, she did notice that the blond intruder was dressed like some cricket-fanatic.

"There she is!" The man addressed the Doctor's blue-box as if he was greeting an old friend. He pulled out a pair of gold half-rimmed glasses and popped them on his face. "Oh yes, this TARDIS might explain all of the time distortions all emanating from this room."

"I thought we were going to be subtle about this, Doctor." The "maid" Tegan reappeared in the doorway, her less-aggressive sidekick "maid" arriving shortly after. "I thought that you said we didn't want to disturb the guests."

"Did I?' The youth mused, idly running his hands over the walls of her Doctor's TARDIS. "Ah, well, I must have decided differently."

"You might have told me, before I got dressed in this ridiculous get up." Tegan complained, tugging off her apron.

"We tried asking nicely, and failed. On to plan B…" The intruder, who was apparently yet _another_ Doctor, circled the spaceship, consulting some clunky gadget that looked like it was an eighties-version of high-tech. He paused and looked at Donna, "Oh marvelous. I've terrified someone. My apologies…We are quite harmless—well, they are—and I chose to be…quite, perfectly harmless."

As Donna was fuming and preparing a really good shriek of indignation for the "new Doctor", a strange teenage boy with dark hair cut in a stupid-looking bowl-cut shape and dressed in loose partially patch-worked clothing entered her room. The "maids" didn't seem to find his presence unusual and shifted to the side to allow him more room. Scanning the room with dull looking dark eyes, the teen headed into her bathroom.

"Who the hell is that? What is he doing in my bathroom?"

"Ah. Never mind him." The intruder placed his hands in his pants packets and noted in a mellow friendly tone of voice, "He's my assistant, Adric. He probably just looking for something to eat. You know, hungry young boys..."

"What is he going to find to eat in my bathroom?" Donna rose from the floor, clutching her bathrobe tighter. "And you, Tan-Man, what give you the right to march in her and start…groping a space-ship that isn't yours! Bringing all your weirdo costumed friends along. Just who do you think you are?"

"The Doctor," the blond man announced cheerily, moving in for a handshake with a cheeky grin.

"Well, Doctor whatever-regeneration-you-are, that is not your TARDIS and this is not your hotel room and the time distortions are not your mystery to solve…" Donna slapped him hard, "so bugger off!"

"Excuse me…" The man said meekly, stumbling back towards the door. He looked appropriately ashamed of himself and slightly confused.

"Rabbits!" Tegan cried, rushing in between Donna and the intruding Doctor. "No one treats the Doctor that way...well, except for me."

"I think perhaps this is getting slightly out of hand…" The Doctor mildly interjected, "why don't we…?"

"What? Your Doctor is so pathetic he needs to hide behind the bouffant of his French maid?" It was perhaps, a very uncharitable judgment to make, but Donna was through being sensible. She wanted her space. She wanted her room free of them.

Into the tense silence, came the familiar sound of her sonic-toothbrush. Was that little freak using _her_ toothbrush? Nyssa, turned to peer into Donna's bathroom, asking in a puzzled tone, "Adric, what are you doing in there?"

"That's it! I don't care if you're the Doctor…I've been pushed around and toyed with quite enough!" Donna shouted. Slapping the Australian maid soundly—for no particular reason besides that she was in easy reach—Donna grabbed Tegan and the intruding Doctor by the hair and dragged them towards the open door. Unsurprisingly, Tegan put up the greater fight.

"Excuse me," came a new voice. A slim old woman in a security guard's uniform was standing in the hall outside Donna's room. She had a military-look about her, even her long pony-tail seemed to be military-precise, and her blue eyes were clear and intelligent. Flanked by two other guards, the old woman stared at the fight and pursed her lips before adding calmly, "We'll take it from here, Ms. Noble."

Finally, something was working out for her. Donna shoved the intruders at the lead guard, while one guard gently guided Nyssa into the hall and the other dragged Adric kicking and screaming from her bathroom. Struggling in the arms of the guard, Adric still clenched a spit-soapy buzzing electric toothbrush between his damp lips and made unintelligible unhappy noises. Adric paused when he saw Donna, looking at her with inscrutable dark-brown eyes.

The guard glanced at Adric, who had begun kicking and wriggling again, and Donna. He seemed to realize that the toothbrush had been stolen. Prying the toothbrush from Adric's soapy lips, the guard offered it to Donna. Adric squirmed, looking like a lollipop had been wrenched away from him, "Give it back!"

"I think it's safe to say that it's your toothbrush now, scarecrow-boy." Donna motioned for the guard to return her toothbrush to the Doctor's freakiest companion yet. She crossed her arms, tucking the collar of the bath-robe higher.

"Sorry about the trouble, Ms. Noble." The old woman stepped forward, "All these…foreigners…here for the Guild meeting… they are a bit eccentric."

"I'm just glad you showed up so promptly."

"Why are you wearing a side-arm? Hotel security isn't allowed…" The tan crickety Doctor was cut off as he was pushed down the hall with his companions. He kept turning back and staring at the old woman, frowning.

Donna glanced down. The woman did have a pistol of some kind clipped to her belt. Fear coiled through her. "Isn't that a bit of over-kill…?"

"Better safe than sorry," The old woman said grimly, taking one of Donna's hands in her own. Donna felt the fear melt away in the firm, soft grip. Of course, these were the good guys. The woman didn't mean anyone any harm. She was only here to help. "Donna, I want to ask you some questions about what's happened."

"Hmm…?" Donna muttered drowsily.

"Can I come in…?"

There was a crackle of static on the woman's radio. _"…Are you coming, sir? We will need your assistance, he's quite powerful…" _

The old woman clamped her hand over the radio. Looking straight into Donna's eyes, she smiled, "Another emergency, I'm afraid. I'll be back momentarily, for a full account of the incident."

"Oh…" Donna blinked, noting to herself that she really needed a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. Jet-lag and constant "adventuring" was making her feel sluggish. "Oi, yeah, fine. Room 206. I'll be here."

The old woman paused, patted her gently on the shoulder, "Good. I'll be back soon. This whole incident will soon be forgotten."

* * *

Author's Note: Apologies to all Adric fans out there...I don't know who you are, or why anyone would _really love_ Adric but he was an odd character. He's just really odd in this fic.


	17. Chapter 17

**Doctor Who**

Because Your Special**  
**

_The Alien Mummy  
_

* * *

Donna stood, staring blankly into her bathroom. She had been brushing her teeth a moment before, before the maids had brought her clean towels…but she didn't recall squeezing toothpaste gel all over the counter. Stepping closer, she saw that mathematical equations were written in the gel. Blimey, maybe she was a Time Lord, after all. Plain Donna Noble was good with numbers—but not this good.

Donna wiped down the sink, trying to recall the last few moments. Maybe it had been another Doctor—another evil one who liked messing with her head—who had decorated her bathroom…and stolen her toothbrush. She'd have to ask James Bond if he had a fetish for electric tooth-brushes or something.

"Donna!" Her Doctor burst in, nearly giving her a heart-attack. In his hands were two wet-suits and two giant oxygen tanks. The wet-suit tubing flailed about him like tentacles. "I got a great deal…!"

"Stop bursting into my room!" She shouted. Donna clenched her bathrobe closed a little tighter.

He looked at her, dumped the gear on her bed and gestured at the door. "Pardon me," His tone was infuriatingly rude, "You want me to go back and knock?"

"I need just a little respect from you, space-man," Donna stomped from the bathroom, "Or I'm getting on the first flight back to Chiswick."

The Doctor bounced on his feet a little, leaning in and smiling widely. But his body language and tone were all sarcasm. Tilting his head, he asked "innocently", "Oh, are you now? Going to face all the frightening regenerations of myself—not to mention, a whole Dalek evil scheme—on you own? How _noble_ of you!"

Donna started towards him, to slap him, of course. Then she recognized the pun on her last name and stopped. He was grinning goofily at her and she couldn't help but smile back. Good Time Lord, he could be charming even when he was insulting.

"Just… knock next time, sunshine. Got it?"

He rolled his eyes and flopped onto her bed next to the scuba-gear. Propping himself up on one elbow, he scanned her before shaking his head. "You aren't dressed yet? You human women are impossible."

"And so are you Time Lords." She muttered, grabbing her clothing and locking herself in the bathroom. As she changed, Donna decided that the Doctor's ideal traveling companion should be a hyperactive, insensitive insomniac hillbilly who never needed to change his clothes and enjoyed suffering from sleep deprivation.

As she rapidly brushed her hair—never bothering about the one-hundred brush-stroke nonsense her mum had insisted upon when she was a kid—Donna checked her make-up. Good enough. As her Doctor had so kindly pointed out, he wasn't interested in her looks. He was interested in her being "time-efficient".

A glimmer of white caught her eye in the mirror. A shape of something large—large enough to be a human—seemed to scuttle out of sight. Gritting her teeth and holding her hairbrush like a weapon, Donna slowly turned. The shower curtain was open, the door was shut…there was no one in the small bathroom but her. Either it was a sleep deprived derived hallucination or there was another Doctor in the room.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll come out, mate!" She bellowed, backing against the counter, and preparing to scream her head off if anything came at her. Donna just hoped James hadn't wandered out of screaming distance…again.

There was no response. No sound. Nothing moved into view, nothing ruffled the shower-curtain or brushed against a towel. And there were no places for another human being—or Time Lord—to hide, even if it had been the size of the little ginger-haired gremlin. Shakily, Donna faced the mirror, drawing her brush through her hair with a slow stroke.

"Don't be silly." She chided her reflection, "No one could have gotten in without me hearing the door."

The figure appeared again, over her shoulder. All Donna could stupidly think was of all those bad horror movies, where the young woman sees the monster or murderer for a split second in a mirror, or window or pond, and then is ripped apart by claws or an axe. She froze, whispering a prayer to God, and made eye-contact with the creature's reflection.

It didn't have eyes, not really, just half-closed eyelids or slits in his face. The alien's flesh, mottled, dry, waxy, mummified looking skin covered its head completely and there was not as much as an eyelash of facial hair in sight. Dressed in a white robe made of some-type of mummy-like gauze, the alien seemed to stare at her.

Darting for escape, Donna put all her weight on pushing the door open, and tumbled into her Doctor's arms. She shrieked and clung to him.

"You still aren't dressed yet—?"

"Shut it!" Donna tried to disentangle herself from his grasp so that she could cower behind him. She was feeling good about being cowardly. She was not going to be brave if James was willing to be brave for her. "There's a white thing—a flippin' white mummy-thing—in there!"

"Another great big problem…?" He twisted to stare into the bathroom, craning his neck for a better look. Endearingly weird, he smiled broadly—as if he couldn't wait to throw himself at whatever glorious monster was in her bathroom—and looked down at Donna. Then, chivalrously, the Doctor put himself between her and the door. "Good thing you got me!"

"Yeah. Lovely." She shoved his back lightly, "Go be my hero, Sunshine."

"Fantastic." He vanished inside the bathroom, scanning the tiny area with his sonic universal remote wand that made funny high-pitched whirring sounds. With a flick of his wrist, he pulled something on the sonic screwdriver and checked some tiny readings. "Tell you what, we have a semi-tangible psychic presence on our hands, Donna."

"Do you mean ghost?" Donna stepped backward, blinking, "Right, 'cause I've already met vampires in restaurants so ghosts in the bathroom are obviously next on the list. What's next… Santa in the pool? Noddy, at tea, on the patio?"

"…But how'd you pick up his presence? Tiny human brain like yours."

Crossing her arms, Donna stared at the Doctor. "Maybe it's that Time Lord intuition."

"You are not a Time Lady, Donna Noble." He gave her a fixed, cool, look. Returning to shaking his sonic screwdriver like it was a pen with only a little ink left, the Doctor climbed into her shower, shut the curtain and then drew it back so suddenly that Donna jumped. He easily leapt out of the shower again and stalked over to her. "Where did you see him?"

"In the mirror." Feeling braver, she inched toward the door, standing just out of the bathroom but angling her body so she could watch James looking in the mirror. Reflected back was the form of the mummy-alien. It had angled its body differently. Instead of staring straight ahead at the mirror, it had turned to stare at Donna in the doorway.

"Doctor! He's looking at me!"

"Just what I need…" The Doctor stared miserably at the ghostly form, "Another inexplicable mystery added to our already tangled mysteries. Donna, meet the Watcher."

"The what?"

"The Watcher."

"What's it do..?"

The Doctor looked away from the mirror to look at Donna with a look of disbelief about human stupidity. "He _watches_. He's sort of my own creepy observer, my own personal Grim Reaper."

"Thanks, but I don't think we need anymore poetical enigmas right now. If you know what it is—and why it is staring at me—then, spill it."

"I only have a theory," The Doctor stuck his hands in his jacket pockets, staring at where the Watcher would be in the room—if they could see him—and then glanced at Donna, "just a theory. Years ago, I met him before I died. A bringer of the doom of death and the hope of regeneration. Never saw him before. Haven't seen him since. A companion of mine claimed it was a future regeneration, but future regeneration don't spiritually haunt their pasts—so I personally thinks it's a temporal anomaly, some version of me from an alternative universe or another time, unhinged from its place in reality and looking for something familiar. But, as I said, it's only a theory."

"So it's either an unborn ghost or a lost ghost, either way, it's another Doctor-thing." Donna sighed wearily, "But why is it looking at me?"

"Because you're special." The Doctor answered glibly, continuing before she could interrupt, "but—no, not a Time Lord—and you're the one attracting it."

"All my life shouting to get guys to notice me, and here in Spain, not even a day and I've got freaks by the arm-load." Donna bit her bottom lip, "But, Doctor, no one else, none of the other Doctors, knows that they are here because of me. They just think its random chance. They think they are here buying parts or here for the guild convention."

"Point, please."

"All I'm saying is, no one else knows that they are being drawn here 'cause of me… so why should ghost-boy?" She stared at the pasty-creature in the mirror. It had not moved at all, still staring at her with whatever it had, or didn't have, for eyes. "Why should he be watching me? Especially if he's only ever showed up to dying Time Lords to tell them they are go to, well, die…"

"One, no one is dying. Two, you're _not_ a Time Lord." The Doctor said firmly, refusing to look her in the eye.

"Yeah, well, I'll take your word for it. Can you just get rid of him?"

The Doctor patted the air where their ghost "stood", checking in the mirror to see his progress. He made none. "Can't physically move or dispel it. I can't telepathically tell it to 'bugger off' because all that it is, is thought—powerful thought—and I'm a bit rusty," He half-smiled, looking a tad ashamed, "so I'm open to suggestions."

"Well, I am not getting dressed if it's gonna be watching me."

"Get dressed in my room." The Doctor tossed his hotel-room keycard to her. "I'll keep an eye on him."

Donna gestured to her clothes, still lying on the counter, and the Doctor handed them over. She opened the door to the hallway and checked both ways before darting into the hall. Last thing she wanted was someone to see her fleeing a ghost in her bath-robe.

"Donna."

She turned to see James walking backwards out of her room. He was carrying her compact mirror and appeared to be trying to keep the moving ghost in view. He looked up at her, saying solemnly, "He seems to want to watch you. Of course, you must be much more interesting than this daft old face. No interest in me whatsoever."

The Doctor angled the mirror and tilted his head, rapidly backing up to stand next to her. "And, usually," one corner of his mouth lifted in a roguish grin, "I am very interesting."

"Annoying's more like it." She retorted, clutching her clothing to her chest. "So, it's just gonna follow me…wherever I go. How am I going to—you know—use the loo or anything?"

"I have no idea. Imagine that. Me with no idea." He smiled gleefully at the prospect.

Another voice, a younger voice with a different accent, added. "Doesn't happen often, I can assure you."

James looked behind him at the speaker, frowned and whispered into Donna's ear, "Maybe if we don't make eye-contact, he'll go away."

"The Watcher?" Donna asked.

"Of course not—haven't the slightest idea what to do about the Watcher yet—no—the nerdling idiot."

"The bow-tie one, you mean?" Donna had turned around and half-waved to the Doctor's later regeneration. He was still wearing his tweed-jacket and bow-tie but the new Doctor apparently had found a round red-hat—possibly a fez—to plop on his stupid-looking hair. He was looking at her, smiling, but as if looking at her made him hurt a little inside.

"Do you ever listen! I said, don't make eye-contact. Fantastic, now He'll want to come over and help."

"Would that really be so bad?"

"Didn't we just go over this last night? He's a useless idiot."

Donna pushed her tongue into her cheek, grinning, as she said with fake girlish-breathlessness. "And I have you…amazing you…so I shouldn't need him? That sum it up?"

"Yes!" James smiled down at her triumphantly before he saw her face. He crinkled his forehead in confusion and frowned. "Are you playing with me or what?"

"Of course she is, you arrogant…person, you." The doctor in tweed swanned in-between them, staring at the tiny mirror to get a glimpse of the Watcher. "She's Donna Noble. What's the point of a best-mate if not to exchange witty dialogue and inside jokes with?"

Donna thought of her sometimes friend Nerys. "Funny. I always thought they were to borrow money off of."

"Now, don't get clever. That's my job. King of clever. No, forget that, rubbish line. I'll think of something wittier. Just you watch me." The new Doctor had his green sonic-screwdriver out and was taking readings of their invisible friend. He stared at the readings and then peered back into the mirror. "Oh…aren't you lovely…"

James grabbed the back of the man's jacket and pulled him away from his mirror. With more than a little vehemence, he said, "Excuse me, you mind not taking over my investigation?"

Bow-tie-boy stepped back, straightened his jacket and pointed at Donna's friend. "Don't be all gloom and doom. It not my style."

"I'll have whatever style, I like. I didn't survive the Time War to be lectured by immature little punks like you."

"No, you survived the Time War so you could be mean and tough and…" Bow-tie Boy looked up at James, gesturing grandly, "…intimidating. But—no matter—I'm not here to lecture you, or to help you—now, now, no intimidating."

James plastered a fake, rather dangerous smile on his face and crossed his arms. "You scared of me or what?"

The nerd-Lord Doctor whirled his arms dramatically, scanning in a helter-skelter pattern with his green sonic screw-driver. "Scared? Well, always scared. Always scared of Daleks and the dark and Sylvia Noble and regenerating into a bald-man who goes about with the name of Clive—but scared of myself?" He paused, consulting the readings of his screwdriver before adding softly, "I know me too well."

"I am standing in my bathrobe, being stalked by undead Time Lords." Donna announced sourly. "If anyone could resolve this situation—like now, for instance—I would be a lot happier."

"Hmm?" Bow-tie Boy paused, lifting his head from peering intently at the screwdriver. He looked completely baffled to see her standing there. It was as if he had gone into another world inside his own head, and that coming out of it, had left him in some-buggy-eyed state of shock. "…hello, Donna."

"Bathrobe! Watcher!" Donna retorted.

"Yes, yes, I was getting to that. Thinking about getting to that. In any event, I will think of something clever to do to our mysterious ghost-friend here." Bow-tie Boy stopped chattering to give Donna a cheeky little smirk, "As for the bathrobe, keep it on for now, eh?"

As Donna nearly choked in shock, clutching her terry-cloth hotel robe tighter, she glanced over at her friend.

James had flushed red and looked like he really wanted to put his intellect at work planning a horrible end to the boy in tweed. But for all of that, her Doctor looked as stunned as she did. He looked down at her. "Did you see that?"

"Him flirting?" Donna considered, "Flirting badly? Hadn't noticed."

"We're not supposed to do that. Flirting with companions. Intentionally." James scowled at him, "And, might I add, she's not even _your _companion."

"Oh grow up. Time Ladies are all dead and I didn't mean anything by it—never do—well, mostly never—except in really particular cases. Or if they're wearing one of those shiny, really shiny red dresses….with a fez." Bow-tie Boy sighed, "Fezs are cool. Now! Besides, your problem is—Donna's not your companion."

Her doctor folded his arms across his chest. "I dunno." He turned his wise, intense blue eyes on her. "Donna, are you my companion?"

Donna shook her head, wearily. Why couldn't these Doctors ever stay on task for more than a minute? They so loved to hear themselves talk. "What's that mean, James?"

He took a moment to consider, before grinning boyishly at her. Sometimes he was just so infuriatingly adorable. "You travel with me. I rescue you from things—monsters mostly—and you act impressed."

"No. She's not." The nerdy professor-boy stated flatly. He motioned grandly, as if he'd realized he'd failed to be the center of attention for a few minutes. "You want to know what I'm doing here? Saving Donna. Friend in need and all that." He meandered over to Donna and scanned her up and down before grabbing her into a gigantic hug. For such a skinny paper-cut-thin bloke, he seemed very strong.

Bow-tie Boy held her tightly and a little too closely. Since he was about a dozen centimeters taller than she was, he had bent down to reach her. His face had somehow gotten pressed into her damp-hair and his chin was digging into her shoulder. The confusing hug reminded Donna of family reunions with cousin Arnold. The pudgy unmarried relative had always hugged a little too long and little too tight.

Donna wriggled, trying to get her hands loose. "Oi…"

James pulled him off of her, giving the young Doctor a shove away from them. He looked far from happy. "You here to get under my skin and bring out violent tendencies? Or do you actually have something useful to contribute?"

Bow-tie Boy raised himself up on his scrawny legs. "I'm the Doctor. I will not be deterred from helping Noble because a big mean," he looked James up and down, "big-eared bloke—with anger issues—" he raised a finger and waved it as if he was making a point, "who also happens to be me—stands in my way—'cause the one thing you never want to do, not ever, is stand in my way."

Bow-tie Boy grabbed the compact mirror out of the Doctor's hand, looking for a moment like the Doctor should. Brave, fearless, clever and absolutely mad. Eyes on the mirror, Bow-tie Boy pointed at a corner and said, "Now go sulk about Gallifrey over there, Doctor. Daddy's busy."

"Oi!" Donna didn't like the sudden tension in James. He was reacting very badly to the Gallifrey remark. She tried to defuse the situation with a loud question, "Can we bring the Time Lord testosterone levels down?"

"Hush." Bow-tie Boy slapped a hand over Donna's mouth. "I'm thinking."

Rage—frighteningly intense rage was building in Donna's friend's body. His eyes were shadowed and dark and his shoulders were hunching and fists clenching. She began to feel frightened for the little nerdy-idiot. Sure, Bow-tie Boy had less tact than a drunken cat, but he meant well. Didn't he?

The man was babbling out his theories in a concentrated, but oblivious to all else around him, manner. "Yes, a simple matter of reversing…"

Each word measured, almost hissed out, James stared him down, "Don't you ever use Gallifrey as part of some cheap joke."

"Quiet. _I'm_ talking." Pocketing his gently beeping screwdriver, the boy in tweed slapped his hand over James's mouth.

"James!" Donna's cry came too late.

Her doctor had violently grabbed the boy's hand, and yanked it hard to pin at the boy's back. In another moment, he had the new Doctor flat on his face on the hallway's carpeting and trapped him in that position with a heavy knee.

Bow-tie Boy's crimson fez had flown from his head and was currently reeling its way across the hall in a languid drunken manner. It rolled into the stairwell and went over the edge with a soft plopping sound.

"Oh, look carpet." Bow-tie boy said in a dazed, chatty-tone, "Sort of an ugly pattern up close. Not so noticeable when you're standing on it."

James, chest still heaving with wrath, ground his kneecap a little harder into the other Time Lord's back. "Am I going to have to kill you to shut you up?"

Donna remembered the dark demon Doctor and his psychic gremlin. She knew he could kill the other Doctor. He wasn't so heroic that he was incapable of murder. She just didn't know if he would. Well, she wasn't Rose. But she was his friend. She'd stop him. Donna grabbed James by the shoulder. "Don't you dare!"

"Don't interfere, Donna." It was something a soldier might say. Cold tones, determined looks. "Are you going to apologize?"

"For being truthful? What is the world coming to when a man can't be truthful to himself?"

James grabbed a fistful of tweed jacket and shook the slighter man. "Just shut it!"

* * *

Author's Note: Sorry about the prolonged delay in getting chapters up. I actually have most of this story written in rough draft so as soon as I edit it, we should be rolling along rather well. =)


	18. Chapter 18

**Doctor Who**

Because Your Special**  
**

_Teenage Boys or Scientist Aliens?_

* * *

"It looks like I have arrived just in time." The haughty intelligent voice of a familiar Doctor echoed in the tense silence. The clownish man, in the hideous rainbow-hued patchwork jacket, sauntered in, collected the mirror from the carpet, fiddled with it until he saw the Watcher. He frowned, tilting the mirror to get a better look. "Interesting. Isn't it, doctors? What purpose do you serve, harbinger of regeneration?"

"Hello." Bow-tie Boy's voice seemed a little worn. With the pressure of Donna's Doctor on his back, he could barely lift his head to make eye-contact with his other regeneration. "Would you mind helping me up?"

"You got yourself into this mess, you young fool. It's hardly my concern." The colorfully dressed blond Doctor glanced down at him in a superior, disinterested way, and marched over to hand the cosmetic mirror to Donna. "Hold that, if you please, my dear girl."

"But…" Donna wasn't sure what to do. So she held the mirror and kept an eye on the Watcher.

The gaudy doctor swerved away. Halo-boy, that was what she'd called him earlier. Donna hoped there would be a better way to tell all the Doctors apart in her head rather than giving all of them nicknames but she didn't think now was the time to ask James for suggestions.

Her friend's anger had faded into sorrow and it looked like he was ashamed of his actions. He still kept hold of his youthful prisoner but the wrath had faded, leaving hollowness in his eyes. He looked up but was having trouble making eye-contact with the blond Doctor.

Halo-boy Doctor knelt by the other two and began fishing about in Bow-tie Boy's pockets. He withdrew the screwdriver, glanced at the readings, and stood.

James' unfortunate captive lifted his head to complain. "Now, I really don't want any harm to come to that. It's new. It's brand-new."

"La-de-da." The blond Doctor replied, "I am simply using a tool—a rather unessential tool, I might add—there's more to being a genius than relying on simple sonic technology. It might do you some good to put your wit to work on problems."

From his position on the ground, the younger—in appearance, anyway—Doctor's voice was muffled. "I'll keep it in mind."

"Of course, sonic-screwdrivers do speed up certain solutions. Now, to save the day." Smiling as if pleased with himself, with his hideous coat twirling dramatically about him, he moved to stand next to Donna. With a few clicks of some buttons on the device, the gaudy doctor confidently and directly pointed the green light at the Watcher. The Watcher rippled like he was underwater and then vanished from the mirror's reflection. He hadn't broken eye-contact with Donna—not even in the last second of his visibility.

"I was going to do that…" Bow-tie Boy muttered from the floor.

"What did you do?" Donna asked the blond Doctor.

"Saved the day, my dear girl." Halo-boy gently tweaked Donna's nose, before contentedly settling back on his heels.

James was the one who replied. "It was a simple matter of reversing the polarity of the temporal attraction—of course—on a very small scale using sonic pulses." James thumped Bow-tie Boy's head against the floor as a last act of spite and climbed to his feet. "Which is what I was trying to do when…" He looked down at the other doctor who was still lying limply on the carpeting, and for a minute Donna wondered if James was going to kick him.

Suddenly, the boy in tweed leapt to his feet, long fingers flittering about almost like he was having a seizure. "Don't be silly," Bow-tie Boy finished his finger twitches to wipe off the dirt and carpet lint from the arms of his jacket, "you told Donna you didn't know what to do about the Watcher."

"That doesn't mean I didn't have a few ideas." James shot back. "'Cause of you, I didn't get a chance to try them…"

Bow-tie Boy looked unconvinced and started to reply but at the look on James' face, he sensibly shut his mouth. He did manage to catch Donna's attention and smile at her as if they both knew how useless her Doctor was.

"Yes, yes. I am sure she's very grateful to you two future-flibbertigibbets for _thinking_ about doing something." The blond Doctor said grandly, dismissing the other Time Lord's argument with a waving gesture. "But, _my_ solution is only temporary. The Watcher is still around. Back in his own little dimension, undoubtedly. But…" Halo-boy put his hands in his pockets like James often did and looked pensive, his intelligent eyes staring at the spot where the Watcher had vanished, "whatever pulled him into our world, will undoubtedly pull him back here again. No, to get rid of him entirely, we must solve the greater problem."

"If everyone would stop getting in my way, I could sort that." James noted irritably and crossed the room to take Donna's elbow. "You coming?"

"Of all the overconfident, conceited, imbecilic plans that ever has graced the universe with its pure rankness, I believe that takes the top. Hmm. The absolute top. " Halo-Boy clenched his jacket's lapels and nodded at Bow-tie Boy. He made a sound in his throat which was an odd half-chuckle half-sigh, "I can't say I blame you not wanting to work with _him_. He is, after all, an absent-minded idiot. And more irritating than Peri on a sugar-high...but you can't really do without us, can you?"

"Foppery." Donna's Doctor cursed under his breath. At least, Donna assumed it was a curse-word, though she'd never heard it before. "'course I can, I'm the Doctor."

"You can't impress me with my own name." Bow-Tie Boy commented, rubbing at the arm James had abused. "You know, very old men should be treated with more respect."

The Blond doctor snorted. "Hah. Speak for yourself. I am the proverbial spring-chicken in the room."

"Hall."

"Well, let's be precise as to _location_, shall we?" Halo-boy retorted, rolling his eyes.

"You know what I think," Donna spoke loudly, "I think you all need some serious therapy. Snipping at each other at a time like this."

"Oh, not you too. Peri's been trying to get me to go for months. I personally cannot see anything wrong with a little friendly debate among colleagues." Halo-boy turned his back on Donna to wander to a window to peer out of.

Bow-Tie Boy added softly, "Besides, Freud won't see me since I burned that hole in his sofa."

"You burned a hole in his sofa?" James asked, frowning.

"Sorry. Very sorry about that." His finger's flickered nervously, looking at James. "And I'm sorry about the whole demeaning Gallifrey…" he glanced at the colorful Doctor, as if hoping the pudgy Time Lord wasn't paying any attention, and began whispering, ""_thing_" especially after the war… and…"

"You can apologize later." Halo-boy swept back into the conversation and tossed the borrowed sonic screwdriver into its owner's clumsy hands. "What matters is, that you were right, Doctor."

"I was? Yes, I was. I'm always right. What am I right about today?"

"Blimey," Donna sighed. It was like baby-sitting self-deluded teenage boys…three of them, who didn't like each other very much. It hardly mattered that they were all clever scientist aliens with a knack of detective-work…they were too busy insulting each other to be of any use to Donna. She smiled slightly, it was a sort of appalling entertainment though.

"On two accounts. Naturally, first taking me into your confidence was brilliant. I think we can all agree that I have much better powers of mental deduction than many of the other "me's"… Secondly, there is something untoward going on. It is not mere fate compensating for the temporal anomalies. No. There _is_ an intelligent, corrective power working against the time-distortions and whatever—or whoever it is—they are using the guise of harmless tourists…"

"Pond was right."

"…and the guise of hotel security. Who knows how many of them they are? Or how far they have infiltrated? And what is their end goal? Is it the same as ours?"

"You mean, there are people out there, trying to put the time-line right?" Donna glanced from face to face, feeling vaguely encouraged, "but that's a good thing, isn't it?"

"Maybe." James' northern voice seemed more out of place than usual after listening to the voices of his other selves. He held himself awkwardly, arms clutched to his chest. He glanced at his co-Doctors, "I used Huddle's new sensors—if you have a chance to see the stupid man's ship, take it, she's fantastic—and there is something at the bottom of the ocean, just off the coast. I think if I can get close to it, take some readings, I might be able to figure out who our mysterious "saviors" are. What they are up to here."

"Under all that water, you'll need more than a sonic-screwdriver. And with the chameleon circuit broken—at least I assume, it's broken—"

"Yes, yes, he hasn't bothered to fix that again." Bow-tie Boy paused, adding slowly, "Or the invisibility cloak."

James looked at the other Doctors as if he was trying to defend himself against two enemies instead of sharing information with two allies. "Why would I? I can never find her if she isn't blue."

Donna yawned unintentionally, "Oi, Doctor-men, can we sum up so I can get dressed and find some coffee?"

"…without either of the TARDIS's camouflage devices working, you'll need something with sensors, recording equipment and data storage…" the pudgy blond doctor listed them off on his hand, "_and_ something our unseen "helpers" would not be suspicious of."

James snapped his fingers, his boyish grin returning with vengeance. "Celino's luxury _Firespace Six. _It's waterproof and has the best chameleon circuit—perfect with a little tweaking."

"Ideal," Halo-boy scoffed, "that is, _if_ you were the size of a terran Chihuahua or a Gillozian spider. Which neither I, nor you, are."

"Is that the ugly little box you were breathless over, James?" Donna shifted on her feet, anxious to head back to her bathroom and change. Still, she wanted to hear the plans. Proper plans at last.

"What you saw _as_ an ugly little box." He smiled at her, "never impressed, are you?"

She smiled back, weakly, "I'm too tired to be impressed."

"By all means go and get your coffee, and stop complaining. You're as bad as Peri, Donna." Halo-boy frowned, "Donna. That is your name, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Donna frowned back. Didn't he remember her from the plane-ride? She'd slapped him hard enough—she should have left a mark on his memory.

The colorful Doctor collected himself, leaning back haughtily. "Of course it is." He turned his attention back to James, "You'll need to wire the vehicle for remote-control. I shall assist you."

"I really don't need help." James sighed, looking unhappy about the situation. "All right then, but no flirting with my companion. That goes for both of you."

"Flirting? _Flirting?_ Me? Flirting? Whatever would give you that idea? Preposterous!"

"Can you shout the same thing a little quieter?" Bow-Tie boy muttered under his breath in Halo-boy's direction. "Well, since my technical expertise is not required, I shall go find my Fez and then see what Amy and Rory have discovered. Perhaps interview a few other of our incarnations—most of them are here, you know."

Donna made a grim face. "Yeah. I know."

Apparently not caring what the boy in tweed planned to do with his evening, the blond doctor pulled open the door to what Donna assumed was his hotel room. He shouted something into it. A moment later, his frazzled, young American friend appeared in the door way. She whined something but all Donna heard was Peri's Doctor's response.

"I don't care what you were watching on the telly. You're my assistant—are you not?—so assist." He turned back to James, "So hard to find good help these days."

"Or good Doctors." Peri said sulkily.

"Donna," James had moved closer and was gently touching her shoulder. "I have a bunch of jiggery-pokery to do. Meet you at the hotel's sea-side entrance in two hours."

"Two hours." Donna agreed, already moving towards her room. "Have fun."

James bounded down the hall with Peri and Halo-Boy. He turned before he reached the stairs and grinned cheekily at Donna. "And, please be dressed this time."


	19. Chapter 19

**Doctor Who**

Because Your Special**  
**

_Crazed Old Man in a Cape & a Gentleman_

* * *

Pouring gritty soap over her hands, she scrubbed the bacteria away from her palms, her wrists and her fingers. Her hands were so wrinkled and knotted at the joints, that she was faced with yet another reminder of her age. Sometimes, when she was in the thick of it—she almost forgot that there were only another dozen years or so left…if she obeyed Hark and took all her supplemental injections and stopped eating sweets.

"Sir?"

"Report." She turned to look at the baby-faced physician. Sweat droplets glistened above Hark's thick wild-looking eyebrows, and dark smudges of exhaustion were creased under each eye.

"All readings are normal and stabilized. He's ready for reintroduction." The doctor methodically untied the white metalform-fabric strips from around their "patient". Without missing a beat, he took a small short-bristled brush from his recovery tray and swiped at the man's light tan cricket suit, eyes searching for places the extraction team might have wrinkled or smudged. Satisfied, he placed a fresh piece of celery on the man's lapel.

"Don't forget to check him for bruises." She ordered quietly, turning back to dry her hands under a sanilight beam.

"Yes, sir."

She could hear Hark beginning his search, and the humming of the nanogenes as they flitted over the Doctor. Turning at the sound of the door opening, she watched her oldest friend enter, carrying a notepad with her people's symbol on the cover.

In her current and earth-appropriate, "humanized" form, Eve looked young. Even though her costume—a poor man's camouflage but effective—was that of a private school student complete with pleated plaid skirt, sweater and suit coat, Eve carried herself with the dignity of a scientist and historian. And even though the clothes were era-appropriate, clean and crisp, they had a faded and severe look to them. She wouldn't doubt that Eve had chosen the dark colors intentionally.

Pulling a tiny plaid bow from her auburn hair and dropping it into her pocket, Eve flipped to a page in her note-sheet. "The work is complete on the Doctor's followers. No complications?"

"None?"

"The Teagan woman gave Smitty a black eye." Eve replied matter-of-factly, "but they are in good health and ready for reintroduction."

Recalling the gold-hued nanogenes into their capsule, Hark nodded at the Doctor. "We are all set here, too."

She spoke into her communications device, ordering the reintroduction team to the med-labs, and wishing them success. Striding into the hall, she glanced at Eve—who had followed her with her customary soundless grace.

"…was there something else?"

"Nothing of a personal nature, if that is what you are insinuating," Eve replied evenly.

"If there were," she placed a hand on the shorter woman's arm, "I would listen, sister."

Eve meet her gaze without as much as blinking and patted the hand absent-mindedly. She used to be easily angered, wild and opinionated, but Eve's current form always seemed to have mysteries to keep and emotions to withhold. The long heart-to-heart-conversations with her advisor and friend had long become a thing of the past.

"I would be soulless not to have my concerns about this mission—and its cost. But I am a pragmatist." Eve consulted her notebook, "Dr. Sajan's prototype has completed testing. She's reviewing and compiling the data, getting second opinions—"

"Eve, I appreciate caution," _especially in this delicate situation_, she mentally added, "but does she have a time-frame? We can't play these "patch-up" games much longer."

"Sajan claims _Polaris_ will be ready by evening."

"Polaris?"

Eve shrugged, snapping her notebook shut. "The North Star. Human sailors used it to keep them on course during ocean voyages. Ever imaginative, Sajan thought it appropriate."

"Maybe it is." She responded, thoughtfully, and shrugged back. "Continue with your surveillance teams, I will see if I can speed _Polaris_ up."

As they parted, she found herself thinking of stars and destiny. Her musings halted when a hover-cart, covered with a sheet, turned into her path. The Doctor's face, youthful and handsome, was the only part of him visible. Serene. He looked serene. One would never know that it had taken three burly extraction team-members to strap him down so that she could alter his memories. She watched the reintroduction team push him past and thought that she should wash her hands again.

* * *

Finally dressed and feeling like a sane human being, Donna Noble strode through the tight-streets toward the coffee-shop. With proper clothes on and her purse, containing pepper-spray and her mobile, swinging from her shoulder, Donna felt a little safer. Checking both ways, she started across the street.

With a long blaring of an antiquated horn, a small old-fashioned luminescent yellow car whirled into her path. Donna barely had time to note that the driver was a crazed old-man in a cape before she had to race out of his path.

"Out of the way! Out of the way!" the white-haired mad-man shouted, steering wildly.

Wobbling on heels—why had she chosen _heels?_—Donna lunged for the sidewalk. A stranger reached out, grabbed her arms and pulled her to safety.

"Thanks," Donna breathed, clinging to the arms of her rescuer for support. She gulped in air, before straightening and glancing up at the stranger.

He was a handsome, gentle-looking man, dressed in some-sort of reenactment costume of a Victorian style. Slung over his body was a long leather satchel, and a fob-watch dangled from his vest pocket. His hair, sandy-brown curls, was crisply cut short. His friendly, kind blue eyes seemed familiar.

"I loved that car," His voice was smooth, low and gentle, "More…modern methods of transportation may be time-saving but I miss the feeling to wind in my face."

Donna extended her hand. "I'm Donna."

"Oh, it is a pleasure to meet you, Miss." He gently took her hand and kissed it. "You must be more careful. All manner of mad-man are about Barcelona at this time."

"I well know it. You like old cars then?"

"No, no, I don't. I miss liking old cars though." He smiled softly, "That particular model was an antiquated thing with a bad starter and an obnoxious color…but at one time, it was liberty when freedom was precious."

Figures, another mechanical-minded man who liked to hear himself talk. Donna shook her head slightly and checked herself over. She had a few light scrapes across her knees but they were not bleeding enough to ruin her skirt.

"Can you make it to that chair?" Her new friend asked, "I have some anti-septic in my bag."

Donna smirked, "What are you, a doctor?"

"Yes. Just call me the Doctor, if you don't mind."

"Oh. Fantastic." Donna scolded herself for not knowing better. And she thought she was getting better at recognizing the various incarnations of her Time Lord friend.

The new Doctor—the Gentleman—reached for her arm, taking it and gently leading her to one of the coffee place's out-door table and chair arrangements. As soon as Donna was seated, he knelt in front of her and began rummaging in his satchel before withdrawing a futuristic metal-tube and twisting at the bottom like it was lip-balm. A green-tinted slightly frothing ooze appeared at the top and he smiled up at her. "It is fearsome to look at but it will not hurt."

Donna looked into his eyes; so much like her Doctor's and found herself smiling back. "All right, Sunshine. I trust you."

He gently applied the cold, bubbling ooze to her scrapes by sweeping it gently over her knees. Magically, the wounds tingled lightly with a warming sensation, and then closed with light, new pink skin taking their place. "Nanogenes," The Gentleman explained, rising to sit opposite her.

"Huh." Donna brushed her fingers along her knees. She bet a bunch of Mum's in England would pay a lot of money to have all their kids scrapes healed so easily. "Thanks, Doctor."

"Always glad to be of service." He smiled and then grew sad. "Almost always."

"What can I get the lovely couple?" A young woman in a coffee-cup patterned apron appeared at their table with a note-pad and pencil in hand. "We have everything except espresso."

"We're not a couple," Donna frowned, "What kind of coffee shop doesn't have espresso?"

The waitress paused, "There was an incident…the espresso machine is down."

"What sort of incident, miss?" The Gentleman Doctor shifted forward in his chair, eyes widening with excitement. "Was anyone hurt?"

The waitress glanced around as if checking to see that her manager was out of sight and leaned toward them. "No one hurt but that's because we were lucky. I swear, that is the last time I let any teenage riff-raff into the kitchen—no matter who they're with—stupid kid plopped a homemade bomb into our machine."

"I see." He smiled impishly, "This young lady—she wouldn't have happened to be wearing a black jacket two sizes too big?"

"Exactly so. She and her friend—he said he was with the police and he did have the proper paper-work..."

"Yes, I imagine he did."

"Anyway, they said terrorists had been tampering back there and they had to take a look. But turns out, the only terrorist at _Coffee Palace_ was the stupid kid. Robbie, he's my manager, he was furious."

"I can imagine. Well, I suppose, I won't be having the espresso. A plain coffee will be fine. Unless you have tea."

The waitress stared at him and shook her head. "Only chai tea."

"Then coffee."

"Me too. With sugar." Donna watched the girl go and then turned back to the Gentleman Doctor, smiling broadly at him from across the table, "Ace and the professor right? Saving the universe?"

The Doctor leaned toward her, returning the smile. "And how did you know that, Donna?"

"Oh, nitro-nine bombs, psychic paper…it could only be those two." Donna paused, "The Professor, is he a close incarnation to this one?"

Watching her carefully, he answered slowly. "The seventh, my immediate predecessor."

"So you're the eighth. It would be great to have you all numbered so I could keep track." Donna ruffled her hair, "I keep seeing you—all of you at different times—something about time-line tampering."

"I have noticed many of my other selves about the place."

"The one with the leather jacket and buzzed head—what's his number?"

The Gentleman Doctor frowned, "I am afraid I'm not familiar with that incarnation. Best not say any more about him. I like knowing the ending—but it isn't good for me."

Donna remembered that James hadn't wanted to know the future and she chalked the difference up to the modified personality of the different versions of the same person. For all of her experience with the Doctors, it was still amazing to her how _diverse_ they were.

She settled back into her chair. "So, why did you think you were coming to Spain?"

"My TARDIS—you know what that is?"

Donna grinned, "Blue police-box, bigger on the inside with a big round control-board in the center?"

"That would be her. I input coordinates for London and ended up in Spain. I haven't the time to try again."

"A Time Lord without time, mite ironic."

"Yes. I suppose." The Eighth Doctor smiled faintly, his blue eyes very sad. "Why are you here?"

"Oh, scuba-diving. And, of course, my Doctor wanted to go to the Guild meeting…but we haven't done much in the way of a holiday—just trying to avoid…well, the other Doctors…and stop time from being wrong." Donna spoke confidently, as if she knew exactly what the right-time line was and what they were going to do to fix it, but she really had no idea. She was relying on James to do Time Lord stuff and save the day.

The coffee arrived, steaming out of thick ivory mugs with the tacky _Coffee Palace_ logo on them. Donna noticed that hers was a paler brown than the Gentleman Doctors and sighed. Okay. Sugar _and_ cream would do.

The waitress hovered over the Doctor's coffee, her eyes scanning down him. Donna thought she was smiling just a little too much. "Can I get you anything else?"

"This is perfect, thank you."

"Just let me know if you need…" the girl blinked, seeming to rack her brain for something a man with a plain black coffee might need, "…a refill."

"He's good thanks." Donna said sharply, nodding her head toward the building. "Blimey, you get that a lot?"

"Hmm?" The eighth Doctor looked up from his coffee, his top lip still resting on the mug. For some reason, Donna was reminded of an oblivious four-year-old boy. Although, with his beautiful eyes and handsome features, Donna could see why the waitress had seemed to be willing to neglect her other customers to just get a better look at him. Compared to James, this Doctor could have been a movie-star. Not that it mattered.

"…Donna?"

"Just chit-chatting." Donna lied. After sipping her own coffee, she grimaced. "For having a royal title, it's not the best coffee I've ever drank."

"Have you ever been to the coffee-fields of New New Earth? They have all the best blends from all over Old Earth and several alien varieties. Coffee-shops on every corner of New New Mexico city." He smiled, bouncing to his feet with that sudden restless energy that she recognized in James. He offered her his hand. "My TARDIS isn't far. Shall we get a real cup of coffee?"

And it was crazy. It was really crazy because, in spite of the absurdity of clambering into the space-ship of a strange alien and the fact that there was an important mystery about her own life to be solved, everything in Donna Noble wanted to leap out of that chair and take his hand. To just run headlong into the trip of a life-time and forget everything else.

"I can't." She said softly, squeezing the extended hand in a gentle consoling manner. "I don't want to drag half-a-dozen unwillingly, unknowing Doctors to a new location. And my Doctor might get jealous—although the man would never admit it. Besides, you said you have a busy schedule."

The Gentleman Doctor dropped back into his chair, staring disconsolately into his coffee. He looked like he sitting on death row, hopelessly waiting for a terrible end.

"Are you all right, Sunshine?"

"Sometimes, Donna, doing the right thing is hard." He smiled faintly, sipping at his coffee with grim determination to finish it. "I'll be fine."

"Whatever is next on your day-planner, it must not be as much fun as the coffee-fields of the future." She teased, but only received a half-hearted chuckle in return. "You look like you need a jammy dodger. A little sugar can always make things brighter."

"A very sound philosophy." He reached into his jacket pocket and tossed a battered paper-bag onto the table. "Jelly baby?"

Donna glanced around for the crazy-eyed hobo-man with the brown curls. He didn't seem to be present, but she had the suspicion that the mere mention of the candy might draw him in like a…well, like a Doctor to a Donna. Poor crazy bloke, he'd probably be a very nice Doctor in the daylight.

"No thanks."

"Do you mean to tell me that this coffee-shop doesn't sell espresso? What sort of lame place is this?" A high-pitched voice demanded in a Scottish accent. The tall leggy redhead from earlier—Amy, she thought was the name—had backed their waitress against a wall.

"Amy, Amy, she hasn't got any. There's no use…"

"Shut up, Rory. If I want your input, I'll ask for it, yeah?"

"Yeah." Her long-nosed husband nodded rather meekly. He was the same man Donna had seemed earlier in the hotel, standing with the shrimp. Donna thought he looked too-young to be married, but she knew that if she was ever lucky enough to have a good-looking bloke like that for a husband, she wouldn't tell him to shut-up. Or she would—she was always telling people off—but not as meanly as Amy did.

He stood uncomfortably by his wife, barely balancing a tray of very tall coffee-drinks and some sort of chocolate-studded scones. His wife, naturally, wasn't carrying as much as a napkin.

"Come along, Pond." Bow-Tie Boy exited the building with a skip on the last step, "We have our double-triple-quadruple chocolate mochas. We have no need for espresso."

Rory nodded. "You don't even like espresso, Amy."

"That is not the point." She turned on her husband, "I was in the mood for one."

"What's higher than a quadruple?" Bow-Tie Boy asked suddenly. He pointed both hands at the Gentleman Doctor, "Do you know?"

With an amused half-smile, the Eighth Doctor just shook his head.

"Well, whatever it is," Bow-tie Boy leaned his arms over the shoulders of the married couple—his companions, Donna guessed—and smiled broadly at the tray of drinks, "there is more chocolate than that in these concoctions. It helps disguise the bitter flavor of the coffee. I like me a good bit of chocolate."

"As much as fish-fingers and custard?" Amy teased.

"Yuck." Donna muttered, glancing at the Gentleman Doctor to get his reaction. He had tuned out the loud threesome and was staring into his drink again. He caught Donna's gaze on him and forced a smile and she felt like something was very wrong with him. She'd seen the Doctor jubilant and angry and even sulky, but not so sad before. "You sure, you're gonna be all right?"

"…not quite. Nothing can quite compare to one's first unique culinary creation." The tweed-jacketed Doctor pulled a chocolate-coffee drink from Rory's tray and began sipping it with a straw. Oddly, he tossed the straw out a second later and plopped in a new straw from his pocket. Between breathing-defying gulps of caffeine and sugar up the straw, the Doctor meandered away from the coffee-shop, "Come along, Ponds, we have quite a bit of leg-work to do."

Rory obediently trudged along, trying to keep the tall drinks from toppling now that the tray was unbalanced by the absence of the Doctor's beverage. "Amy, can you please take your drink?"

"No. I didn't order that. I wanted espresso."

"Amelia, he spent thousands of years waiting for you to come out of a box, the least you can do is take your drink. Besides, it's good. It's got chocolate in it."

"Fine. Anything for my boys."

Donna shook her head. Was she ever that young? That self-absorbed? Probably. Donna liked attention, she just had to shout to get it where as—apparently—Amy just had to flutter her eyelids.

"I must be going." The Eighth Doctor rose from his chair. His coffee was still half-finished.

Wondering if she should mention this fact, Donna stood and put a hand on his arm. "Nice to meet you. I'm sorry we couldn't have taken that trip…We would have had fun."

The Doctor covered Donna's hand with his own, his blue eyes staring down at her. "Yes, I think we would have."

Trying to cheer him up, Donna grinned. "Well, another time, perhaps? When you have more _time_, of course."

"I…" The Gentleman Doctor paused, "I am afraid that is unlikely. I have been called home, you see, as all of us off-world Time Lords have…and I don't think I will be at liberty to visit earth for quite a while."

Donna squeezed his arm, "Going home isn't supposed to make you sad, Sunshine."

"It's not just going home. I can tolerate the regular whining hypocrisy of my people… but you see, Donna, they've just declared war." He looked at some patch of meaningless sky, "Another great Time War."

"I'm sorry." Donna hadn't a clue what a Time War was but, from the way the very sound of it had crushed the Doctor's spirits, it must be very, very bad.

"No more adventures, no more wanderings. Just endless killing. I hate killing. I'm afraid I would make a terrible soldier." The Doctor was still staring at the sky. He shook himself and removed Donna's hand. "Duty calls. Farewell, Donna."

Donna watched him walk away, gracefully picking his way through the crowd, apologizing to tourists when he accidently stepped in their way. Suddenly, she remembered the snowy Christmas Eve she'd first met the Doctor, covered in the bloody rags of a Victorian uniform. Oh my god, that was how it had happened. A war, a horrible war had killed the sweet man she'd just had coffee with and given her James. Angry, confused James, born in the blood of his predecessor.

"Wait!" Donna shouted, shoving her way past the tourists. She pushed a woman's heavy shopping bags to the side as she scrambled to reach the Gentleman Doctor before he was gone forever. Panting as she caught up, Donna stumbled and he caught her.

"We really do have to stop meeting like this." He teased, gently drawing her out of the crowd of pedestrians and into the shadow of his police-box. When it wasn't parked in her hotel room, or landing frighteningly on her deck or filled with homicidal midgets, it really was a beautiful wooden blue box. Donna tore her gaze from the machine to its owner.

"Can I come?"

"I do not have time for pleasure trips. I must arrive in Gallifrey—"

"I mean to Gallifrey, you dunce. Can I come with you?"

"No."

Donna felt tears prickling in her eyes and blinked rapidly. She held the Doctor's hands in hers. They were white, uncalloused and completely unsuited for a soldier's work. "But it's not right. You being alone out there. Who's gonna look after you? Stop you from going too far?" Donna looked up at him, "I won't be any bother, Doctor. I am a very strong woman."

"Of that, I have no doubt." He grinned, putting a hand on her shoulder. "But this—I fear—is an adventure no one can share with me. I and my people must face the Daleks alone."

"But why?"

"Because it is why the Time Lord's exist. Because it's too dangerous for less advanced species."

"Oh thanks." Donna licked her lips, her heart-breaking for this Doctor. She could only imagine what war was like but that was enough to make her want to rescue him from it, or at least help him through it. "You said you liked knowing how things ended."

"I can't know the outcome of the—"

"I know that. I just…" Donna grabbed him, hugging him as tightly as Bow-Tie Boy had hugged her. She hoped it wasn't creepy to him, but she really didn't care. Sometimes, whether awkward or not, people in trouble just needed help. Or a hug. "I will see you again, Sunshine on the other side."

He pulled away, and opened the door to his TARDIS. With a final wave, he vanished and, with a whirring growl, the TARDIS bore him to hell.


	20. Chapter 20

**Doctor Who**

Because Your Special**  
**

_They All Wanted to Help_

* * *

Another hot, distasteful coffee in hand—running with the Doctor, or Doctors, led to a desperate need for caffeine and sugar—Donna reached the meeting point at the hotel with five minutes to spare. Her doctor was standing there, hands folded across his chest, in a skin-tight scuba-diving swimsuit and looking scrawny and geekier than she'd ever seen him. A snorkel, although why he was wearing one to go scuba diving, was strapped to his head with the mouth-piece pointing outwards.

He smiled goofily when he saw her and bent down a little as she climbed the hotel's stairs. "I told you to get dressed."

"You blind?" Donna smiled back, reaching up to poke him in the side with her free hand, "I am dressed."

He pushed her hands away, saying in a serious tone, "Don't do that."

"Ticklish?" She laid her forehead against James' shoulder, closing her eyes and wishing the world would just give her a break. All she could see in her head was the gray and black footage of that World War 2 documentary that Gramps had been watching a few weeks ago—young men being ripped apart by bullet-fire and tanks and barbwire. Except now, she pictured the Gentleman Doctor among them. It wasn't an accurate image—she knew that it was a weird alien Time War—but it was the only point of reference Donna had.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" James pulled the styrofoam coffee-cup from her hands and gulped noisily. A second later, he spat on the stairs. "That's terrible. Nine hundred years of sampling alien drinks and I've never tasted something so…awful."

Donna tugged the cup away, and with a raised eyebrow, finished the rest of the drink. "It's got caffeine, that's all that matters."

"You're in luck. While you've been out finding the worst coffee in the galaxy, I retrieved your scuba-equipment and moved them to the beach-changing rooms. Coming?" James bounded away, his scuba flippers slapping the cement walkway and making him look like an underfed mutant penguin-man. Dutifully, Donna followed, watching him carefully pick his way down some stairs—so as not to trip on the long flippers—and cautiously step into the gold-colored sand.

"Doctor, you know what you could do? Wait to put on your flippers until you were actually ready to go into the water. Might make you look a little less like a drunken Little Mermaid."

"The Little Mermaid was fantastic. I was there when she was hunting Anderson. She's nowhere near as nice as he made her in the book. Fish-woman liked knives." The Doctor turned around, "You coming?"

"I'm coming, I'm coming. Did you get the space-box-whatsit ready?" Donna trudged through the sand, wobbling on her heels and ignoring the smug grin that the Doctor flashed her as he watched her catch up to him. "I mean are we finally ready to do this thing?"

"Not quite." He paused, looking a bit reluctant to elaborate and instead motioned at a tiny tile-roofed building with a men's side and women's side. "You do know how to scuba-dive, right?"

"Don't be daft. You asked me to go scuba-diving in Spain. I gave that Don at the gym good money to get me ready for this." Of course, the whole scuba-diving lessons had been much more interesting because Don had been a looker but she wasn't about to admit that to James. "We even went out to the sea once."

"Right then, you've been practicing in a pool with Don. We should be all-set."

"Look, dumbo, I can do this. I wouldn't be risking my life with it otherwise."

"Okay," James looked slightly chagrined and then smiled that broad boyish grin, "If you trust Don then I trust Don."

"We all trust Don!" A familiar head popped out of the beach house door, his tangled blond curls blowing in the sea-breeze. Halo-boy squinted his eyes in the sun-light and waved for them to join him in the men's side of the hut. "If you've finished collecting your companion, get inside. You embarrass us all in that ridiculous outfit." He vanished back inside the hut.

James grabbed Donna's hand and pulled her toward the beach-hut, "He's a jealous man. Wants to keep embarrassing outfits all to himself."

"Seriously." Donna agreed.

"Oh. Just a warning." He stopped by the door, nudging it open, "I tried to get rid of them. But they all wanted to help."

"All?" Donna poked her head in the hut, "You've got to be kidding me."

Tall men, short men, old men and young men were crowded about a picnic table that had been set up in the middle of the changing room. A metal box-like thing, no larger than the size of a beach-chair, had been split apart into sections and tangled, tortured looking wires spilled from it in numerous directions like entrails. Donna gaped for a moment, trying to wrap her mind around this many Doctors in one room.

The tall gangly one with the crazy brown hair and dangerously long scarf wandered the perimeter of the table dispensing advice in a deep sonorous voice and offering everyone candy. Halo-boy, underneath the table soldering some wires together, seemed to be trying to direct everything and everyone while ordering Peri to pass various tools to him. While his voice was the loudest in the room, everyone was either ignoring him, arguing back or sending irritated looks his way.

To the side, an adorable looking older bloke with a bow-tie and bowl-cut style dark hair, and a tall, elegant-looking white-haired man in a ruffled white shirt, were both bent over a conglomeration of wiring and arguing loudly over some bolt-like piece. Across from them, a gaunt man in a black suit with a cane muttered advice and instruction to Ace's professor. The Professor had pulled off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and tucked a sonic-screwdriver between his teeth. Every once and a while, the Professor would nod to his older companion or turn his head, and take out the sonic-screwdriver, to discuss other possibilities.

The other blond Doctor, the Cricket-Lord, circled the room in the opposite direction of the brown-haired gypsy Doctor. He'd put on his spectacles and stop to ask a question or two before being shooed away by his other selves. Still, since he had a milder personality, he didn't seem to take it personally.

In the corner, a grouping of non-Doctor humans, sat or sprawled on the floor or leaned against the changing room doors. Donna recognized Ace first. The black-eyed teen sat cross-legged on the sandy cement in deep conversation with a handsome man who was dressed in a suit that could only have come from the 50s or 60s and the pixie-faced Nyssa. "All I'm saying is that," Ace argued, "physics aside—you really want a bomb with more flash than destructive power. Most of the time—unless it's a well creepy-wrong house—you need distraction, not destruction…"

Beside them, the dark-haired Teagan was touching the white-gold hair of a slim, sweet-faced woman and talking something about hair-styling and makeup. Beneath the two "fashionistas", a beautiful sandy-haired Amazon in a skimpy genuine animal skin bikini sat on a toy-robot dog and held a knife or dagger up for the inspection of the man next to her. The man, a good-looking Scotsman in a kilt, who was sitting sprawled on the floor, nodded appreciatively at the knife. "Aye, wee blades are better. Less easy to spot and better maneuverability." He pulled a small sword out of his ankle-sock and handed it to the warrior-woman, "This is a dirk of the McClaren clan."

"Your tribe has fine workers of metals." The woman admired the blade, testing the weight of it in her hands.

Donna looked back at the mess on the table and the bickering Time Lord and then to James. "Are they fixing that or destroying it?"

"It's a bit dodgy, getting seven geniuses working together but I'll—they'll come through. I always do." He leaned against the door, arms folded, seeming to have no inclination to join in the chaos.

Seven. Donna did a quick head-count, noting that the band of wire-draped Doctors were missing a few of their "selves". Nowhere in sight was the Valeyard Doctor or his horrible midget-psychic-puppet, the lovely Eighth Doctor or Bow-tie Boy. It would make sense that the first two would be absent, but she could only imagine that Bow-tie Boy was too busy drinking Amy's chocolate coffee and vibrating out of his fez to be of any use.

"You midget-hobo! I told you not to touch that." The tall white-haired gent slapped his short-coworker's hands away from the wiring, "I cannot expect you to understand what I am attempting here…"

Voice barely muffled by the table above him, Halo-boy's announced, "Reversing the polarity of the neutron flow is hardly going to help in this instance. I don't care how many times you say it; it is not universal "duct tape"…Peri, hand me the sonic-spanner."

"This one? Or this one?" Peri held up two wand-like gadgets with flat squares-tops and bit her bottom lip as she stared at them.

"Peri, my word, can't you tell the difference from a sonic-spanner and a sonic-spatula!" Halo-Boy said disgustedly, arms and hands stained with black grease.

"No." The American whined, "But which one's which Doctor?"

"Both of them!" Halo-Boy retorted, returning his attention to his work.

The gypsy Doctor with the scarf, slipped behind Peri, gently pulled one of the devices from her hand and discreetly tucked it in his jacket pocket. He knelt, rummaged in the box, held a device up for Peri's notice and handed it to his other self. He turned to Peri with a gigantic grin, "I should label those things, I shouldn't wonder. Jelly Baby?"

"Oh crumbs, look what you've done. You've tangled the red wires with the pink ones, you color-blinded dandy." The black-haired Time Lord stared at the work in front of him in dismay.

The white-haired dandy barely looked up from his gadgetry. "You short-sighted fool, those are all red."

"My giddy aunt, they're not!"

"Why would a _Firespace Six_ have pink wires?"

"It's all a tangle. Oh dear."

The youthful blond doctor gracefully catapulted himself over the table, without so much as disturbing a bolt or screw and landed on the other side. He stepped over to the arguing old men, straightened his glasses on his face, and peered at the reddish-colored wires.

"Don't you have any sense?" Halo-boy shrieked at the table-leaper from below, "You might have disrupted everything, you impudent fool!"

"I quite agrrrrreee." The Professor said quietly, "There is too much at stake for carelessness."

"I didn't harm anything," Cricket-Lord replied mildly, "Pink."

Dandy-Man finally stopped working to look at the wires in question, but with arrogant confidence, only remarked, "They couldn't possibly be _that _red and be pink."

Cricket-Lord shrugged, "They are pink."

"I knew it, I knew it. Oh dear."

Dandy-Man made an irritated huffing sound, "They can't be!"

Halo-Boy shifted under the table, just enough to peek his head out and shout, "Ridiculously stubborn ancient fop! If you endanger this project by your own arrogance—"

"Excuse me," the short dark-haired Doctor, the Fretting-Doctor, stopped wringing his hands, and glanced at Halo-Boy, "This was a private argument."

"Of all the bombastic drivel, a private argument between the Doctors! A_ private_ argument? Private! Hah! You under-grown recorder-playing dunce, I _am_ the Doctor—"

"To our eternal regret." Gypsy-Doctor intoned quietly, brushing some dust or sand off of the picnic table and away from the exposed parts of the space-ship with the tip of his enormous earth-colored scarf.

"—just as much as _he's_ the Doctor." Calming slightly, Halo-Boy ducked back beneath his table. Donna watched him return to work, connecting wires and generally looking like any sort of mechanic underneath a car. But he wasn't finished alienating everyone in the room. Casually, in his overbearing voice, he added, "I am, possibly, _even more_ the Doctor."

Dandy-Man's eyes narrowed and he circled over to the table's edge, and with a swift elegant movement of his neatly-shined shoed, he kicked a pile of sand into Halo-Boy's face. "Arrogant twat!"

Donna almost felt bad for Halo-Boy as he came out from under the table, dirty, greasy hands rubbing at his enflamed eyes and spitting sand. He made a few inarticulate threats and some alien curses in Dandy-Man's general direction but with tears running from his irritated eyes, he couldn't see well enough to do anything but shout wildly. "_Gomae Siraslon_!"

"Not around the children!" The Fretting-Doctor tutted worriedly, clapping his pudgy wrinkled hands over his own ears, "Oh dear, oh dear."

"You petrified preening lace-covered half-brained color-blind depraved traitor!" Halo-Boy's face was red from anger—and Donna thought, from some pain and embarrassment—but his alien swearing had degenerated into tongue-twisting insults. "You rancid, bitter, petulant snail! You half-loomed sour-faced effeminate!"

"Quite enough. Hmm, Quite enough, indeed." The oldest of the Doctors, the elegant man with the cane, stepped in between the two bickering Time Lords. He snapped a long white handkerchief out of his breast-pocket and handed it to Halo-Boy, "Dry your eyes, hmm? And stop rubbing them with your dirty-hands. Yes, that's the way. Now…" He fixed them both with commanding, imperious stares and the room grew respectfully quiet. Wherever he was in the sequence of personalities, the Doctors all listened to him—and they really didn't usually listen to anyone. He walked slowly, shufflingly to Dandy-Man's work area and looked down, "Pink."

"Yes. I see." Dandy-Man replied finally, acting as if he had given in only because of the greater, unfair consensus of the room and not because his own personal conviction had changed.

"Shall we get to work now, my boy?" With a turn about the room and a judgmental glance at each Doctor, the old man shuffled back to stand behind the Professor and give more advice. The silence was a tense, embarrassed silence and Donna felt that she wouldn't have liked to be on that Doctor's bad-side. He was sort of scary.

"Right then," James reached for the door handle, firmly shutting the other Doctors in and leaving him and Donna on the outside, "That's coming along nicely."

"You think?"

"I dunno. If they all work together, the _Firespace Six_ should be completely modified in fifteen or twenty minutes."

Donna tilted her head, tucking her tongue in the corner of her cheek, "And, if they spend all day trading insults and flinging sand?"

James shrugged, "An hour?"

* * *

Author's Note: One of my favorite chapters. Sure... it doesn't move the ultimate plot along at any speed but its fun character stuff. Besides if you've come this far in the story, you've probably already realized that the there isn't much "ultimate plot" anyway. =)


	21. Chapter 21

**Doctor Who**

Because Your Special**  
**

_Chubby, Loud, Unloved Bully_

* * *

The door opened and Cricket-Lord popped out, hat in hand and exhausted smile on his face. Donna noticed a piece of fresh-celery had been pinned on his lapel and was just about to ask about it when he spoke up, "I am buying ice-cream. Come if you wish."

Donna scooted out of his path, just in time for the door to burst open again and the companions to begin trooping into the sunshine. Nyssa scuttled after her doctor, asking him in her delicate voice "What is popsicle?" while Tegan arm-in-arm with the young blond followed. The Scottish lad, the tall man in the suit and the warrior-woman were dragging the motionless metal-puppy with the painted name K-9 out of the beach-house by a chain attached to its neck. Peri—who had somehow escaped from her bullying Doctor—and Ace were shoving the heavy robot-dog from behind.

"Stupid thing." James muttered, staring down at the pretend dog.

"Would you mind giving us a hand?" The man in the suit asked. From his voice, Donna gathered he had been the man on the balcony earlier. In the sunny daylight, he looked more like a school-teacher than a dangerous invader.

"Of course. Is it broken?" Donna reached for the rope.

"K-9 has run out of power." Surprisingly, the bikini-wearing amazon had an intelligent voice with a vaguely English accent, "The Doctor ordered him to stay in our TARDIS to recharge but, as always, he would not listen. He is a very bad-dog."

"Heavy too. Couldn't you just get, like a Chihuahua or something?" Ace commented, straining to shove the useless robot down the beach-house ramp.

"Oh, aye." Agreed the Scotsman.

"I do not know this word." The warrior replied.

The moment K-9's wheels hit the sand, everyone was jerked back. K-9 was immovably trapped like an anchor at the bottom of the sea. James shook his head and pointed to a spot between the beach-hut and a bush. "Just park the tin-dog here. Leela's Doctor will have to transmat it aboard later."

The Scotsman, hands on his knees and sweat on his brow, asked, "Couldn't we just leave the wee useless metal creature here?"

Ace removed her bomber-jacket and tied it about her waist. Like everyone else, she was sweaty and exhausted looking. "I'm with kilt-boy here."

"In the middle of the walking path? The fat Doctor has already tripped upon him twice." The warrior—whose names was Leela, apparently—argued, looking concernedly at K-9. Donna had a cat at home but it didn't love her and she barely tolerated it. But she understood that some people got really attached to their animals.

"Perhaps if we get a board and use it as leverage—" Suit-Man offered.

"Oi, you know what we could do? Spray-paint a big sign with "Danger depowered dog crossing" and stick it here." Ace rubbed sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.

"Please, Doctor's friends…" Leela placed a hand on the metal dog's still head, "Do not let the fat-one trample on K-9."

Donna knelt down and picked the abandoned rope. She fixed James with a look, "This is your dog, Martian boy, you've got to help."

* * *

Five minutes later, Donna was sitting next to Ace on one side of a picnic table and licking a sherbet ice-cream. It had taken some more muscle and sweat to successfully stash K-9 in the bushes but with James leading the team, it had been done. Leela had thanked them and piled some inner-tubes and life-jackets over the robot so that no one would notice him.

"Better ice-cream than at Perivale." Ace said conversationally, her lips covered in vanilla and her tongue making intricate swirls on her ice-cream. It made her look like a contented tom-boyish six-year-old and Donna hid a smile to herself.

James returned from "checking on their progress" with the spaceship. From his irritated look and curt shake of his head, Donna figured she had a little more time to get to know the Doctor's old traveling friends.

She'd almost gotten their names down now. Ian was the man in the suit, a young science teacher who traveled with the First Doctor. The friendly highlander, Jamie McCrimmon, traveled with the Fretting-Doctor and Leela of the Sevateem Tribe journeyed in the "magical box" with the Gypsy-Doctor and K-9. Teagan's new friend, the impish Jo Grant was Dandy-Man's loyal assistant. The rest Donna knew, although _how_ she knew Nyssa and Teagan seemed very foggy in her mind. Apparently there were more companions—Barbara, Susan and Adric but they had decided to go swimming earlier rather than sit in the hot beach-house with the fighting Time Lords.

Donna, for once, simply sat and listened to the time-travelers talk. Sitting on her other side, James seemed to enjoy just being in the company of old friends again. It was strange how interacting with his otherselves made him angry or tense but here, he was laughing enthusiastically and reminiscing about the brigadier's mustache with Jo or about some ridiculously exercise-crazed woman named Mel with Ace. He was happy. He had loved these people—missed them like Donna might miss her family—and that made Donna care for him more.

"It is most refreshing." Nyssa announced, her hands holding the sticky dribbling popsicle like it was a precious candle. "My hands are much cooler."

"Nyssa, how can you be a brilliant scientist and not know what a popsicle is?" Teagan scolded in a motherly way, "You're supposed to eat it."

Nyssa raised it to her lips and then paused, "But it appears to have no nutritional value, Teagan."

"Welcome to the planet earth, Velvet-legs." Ace exclaimed.

"Thank you," Nyssa replied sweetly and took a tentative bite. By the time the young alien had finished her dessert, she was covered in sugary-blue droplets. Donna and Teagan tried to help her clean up with napkins, a process that the childish Trakken found inconvenient.

At some point, Ace had rushed off to get her boom-box and soon some sort of Spanish salsa beat was booming in the background. Undisturbed by the lack of appropriate music, Ace started teaching the Cricket-Lord how to the moonwalk and other "hip" eighties dance moves. She wasn't very good at it so Peri eventually stepped in and tried to help. Donna laughed at their efforts, feeling that this was a very surreal beach-party. James—seeming to forget that they had planned a scuba-diving adventure for the day—had kicked off his flippers and pulled Donna into a swing dance.

"Can I just say, you are well-good looking for the Professor?" Donna heard Ace say to Cricket-Lord, "You really don't look much older than me."

"Oh yes." He stumbled slightly, and readjusted his tan hat on his head, "Old head, new body."

"It's a wicked trick." Ace said approvingly. "If it wouldn't kill you, I'd like to see it one day."

Donna shook her head. This regeneration, it was a wicked trick. She couldn't imagine getting so close to one of the Doctor's personalities and being his best-friend and then him changing completely before your eyes. Where did the last Doctor go? Did he have a soul? Was there a Time Lord heaven for James when he regenerated into someone else? Or did they all share some massive diverse conscience?

"Hello new Grandfather." A polite dark-haired teen in a modest red and white striped swim suit greeted James with a mysterious smile. Susan, the teenage Time Lord with eyes that said she knew too much for her age. She took in his outfit. "Have you been swimming, Grandfather?"

"Susan!" James pulled her into a hug. Surprisingly, he dotted her wet hair with paternal kisses and held her back for a minute to look into her eyes. "Growing up so fast. You'll be a proper Time Lady before I can blink. You're gonna be just fantastic."

The unearthly child nodded as if that was never in doubt and reintroduced him to a fragile looking woman, Barbara. Barbara couldn't believe that the younger-looking Doctor was really Susan's grandfather and the "man who kidnapped me" but she finally stopped asking questions.

Donna lost track of time—she really truly did and she hadn't meant to—but for the first time since this holiday, she felt relaxed and happy. Not hounded by the universe, forced to meet perfect strangers by some twist of fate or alien plot, but just surrounded by brave, good people. Eventually, the rest of the Doctors began trickling out to join them. The first couple came with excuses that they needed food or couldn't stand Halo-Boy anymore—but eventually no one really cared why they were shirking their work and invited them in. Donna seemed to be the only one keeping track of who was at the beach-house, and eventually only Halo-Boy was absent from the party. She noted this to James but he put her off. "He'll be happier that way. And as for the work, he's a solid inventor, and without distractions, it might actually save us time."

When Jamie tried to teach Leela and Peri some sort of Highland dance, Adric sat in a beach chair watching a little too intently. Donna didn't like that boy; there was something sleazy and sneaky about his face. _His_ doctor seemed to not notice—intentionally or not. Donna followed the boy's gaze and her jaw dropped. She was about to march over and slap him for Peri and Leela's sake, when the ancient Doctor shuffled over and smacked Adric on the top of his head with his cane. The Professor moved over and took Adric by the arm and hauled him out of the chair. Donna caught a few quiet stern words about "how to treat a lady" before the two Doctors—the only ones that seemed to really get along—took him away, presumably to have a talk to him.

Cricket-Lord only watched, shaking his head, "Oh boys will be boys."

Teagan jabbed her Doctor in the ribs. "I think it's about time."

"Time for what, Teagan?" Nyssa asked, looking somewhat eagerly at the "dancing area", "Is it time to dance again?"

Ace stared after the oddly dressed teenager that was being "escorted away". "I don't like that boy. I hope he blows up."

"Blows up?" Cricket-Lord stared down at Ace, concernedly, "Isn't that a bit drastic?"

"If you have to go, why not go out with a bang?" Ace shrugged.

"Yes." The Gypsy-Doctor added, a yellow-green sticky sweet dangling from his lips.

Cricket-Lord frowned, turning to the Gypsy-Doctor. "A bang? You fell off a ladder."

"There goes all the mystery out of my life." His deep odd voice seemed rather sulky. He leaned a wrinkled bag toward Ace. "Jelly baby?"

Donna smiled and wandered over to James. Standing on the edge of the dancing area, he was deep in conversation with the Gypsy-Doctor about K-9 and whether he was worth the bother or not and possible improvements to his core design. Like a longer battery-life.

"Jamie," Leela's strong voice caught Donna's attention, "You will make a fine mate."

The Scotsman froze mid-step, still holding Leela lightly about the waist. From his expression, he was still trying to process the comment but that didn't stop him from speaking, "Oh…aye."

"I will inform the Doctor." Leela took Jamie's hand from her waist and began dragging him across the sand to her Doctor. Jamie dug in his heels, pulling back from her, but still moving because Leela was a very determined barbarian. He sputtered something, pleading ignorance to what exactly he'd agreed to.

"No. No. No. _No!_ Jamie! You furry-legged highlander, I knew nothing good would come of your constant agreement. I warned you. I did. Oh my giddy aunt." The Fretting-Doctor swayed on his feet, as if he wanted to intervene but was too afraid of Leela. "You must dissuade her. I can't give her Jamie—I've already lost too many companions. Oh dear."

"Doctor, what did I say?" Jamie began walking to keep from tripping or his arm being ripped out of its socket.

"Doctor," Leela pulled Jamie in front of her Doctor as if for inspection. Her doctor was the one with the crazy hair and smile. "I wish to take Jamie as a mate. He is a good protector and he appears capable of fathering many strong children. He also dances."

Jamie blushed pink, and adjusted his belt, "Aye…but…"

"Ah, Leela." The Gypsy-Doctor lifted his floppy hat until it rested on the back of his head, "Yes, I can see why you would think that Jamie is fine material for a husband. Brave, kind and…" he paused, making a long sour-type of face as if he only found Jamie's appearance only to be somewhat tolerable, "_reasonably_ attractive for one of the humans."

"No! Don't _encourage_ her!" The Fretting-Doctor scuttled over to slap Leela's hand. The shock of it made her let go of Jamie's wrist. "He doesn't love you, you half-dressed cave-creature!"

"Love?" Leela frowned, straightening, "Love causes strong women to bear the children of fools, weaklings and cowards. It is not the way of the warriors of the Sevateem." She looked over at Jamie. "I have chosen for better things than love."

"She's serious." Peri muttered in her stuttering American accent, chuckling nervously, "I mean she really means it."

"I claimed him first." Leela said, giving Peri a cold look. "This is not your concern, Peri of the USA tribe."

Jamie scratched the back of his head, face still pink, "Lass, it is not that I'm not—you are a lovely—I…" he looked at the Gypsy-Doctor for help, "This is a wee bit discomfiting, Doctor."

"Are we going to have a wedding?" Nyssa interjected.

"I like a good wedding." James smiled boyishly down at Donna. "'Course can't happen, timelines would be too tangled."

"No! Of course we are not having a wedding! Oh dear!" The Fretting-Doctor flailed his hands as if by making odd shooing motions, he could dissuade the determined, marriage-hungry she-warrior from her goal of taking away his young assistant.

"Leela," the Gypsy-Doctor's voice was deep and firm, "This romance is an impossibility, I am afraid."

"He has agreed." She turned on Jamie, looking a little confused about being rejected by him and his friends. "You did agree. Aye is yes, right? Aye _is_ yes. He likes to travel in the TARDIS with the Doctor—he must move to our TARDIS with my Doctor."

"My giddy aunt—he won't!"

"What on earth does that even mean?" Donna whispered to her doctor, "Do you even have an aunt?"

"Move in with you and your heavy tin-beastie?" Jamie whistled nervously, inching away from Leela, "I'm sorry. I'm just not—look here, we haven't even courted properly."

"Anyone come up to me and tried to run away with me down the aisle, I'd punch them in the face." Ace commented to Criket-Lord, who was watching the chaos with a bemused expression. Ace smirked softly, still looking up at the "well-good-looking "Professor"". "Unless he was some charmer."

Donna shook her head. She stood on her tip-toes to whisper into James's ear. "I'm going to go check on the—well, the rainbow-jacket Doctor."

James looked towards the beach-house as if willing it to look more welcoming for Donna's sake. Ghostly gray-white curls of smoke exited from gaps in the beach-house roof. "Right then, you'd better bring him a snack. Near bit my head off last time I checked in."

Donna loaded up a paper plate with crisps and a hamburger and headed for the beach-house. Last thing she heard about Leela's marriage proposal, before she got out-of-range, was the Gypsy-Doctor promising Leela that when she found the right "mate" he wouldn't stand in her way.

Donna nudged the door open, her nose wrinkling at the smell of mechanical-grease, burned plastic and fried wiring. A haze of smoke drifted in the dim air. Still underneath the table, the only thing immediately visibly of the pudgy Time Lord was his shoes and his ridiculous yellow striped pants.

"The designer should be hanged. Sure this _Firespace_ has a remarkable exterior," he muttered in his loud voice, "but its interior is ridiculous."

"Sort of the opposite of you, eh?"

The Doctor shifted, and stared up at her in a sullen displeased way. "Are you trying to be funny, young lady? I have had quite enough cheap-shots for one day, thank you."

Donna knelt down, laying the snack-plate on the picnic table's attached seat. "How're your eyes, Sunshine?"

Halo-Boy's eyes were bloodshot with the skin around them red, sore and damp from infrequent tears. He blinked and viewed her with suspicion. He held two bolt-like pieces inches apart as if he didn't dare return to work when she was in the room. "What is it that you want, Donna?"

"I want to know why every other Doctor is out in the sunshine drinking soda and eating crisps, while you hole up in this dark dressing room." She paused, nudging his arm with her hand, "Don't you want to have fun with everyone else?"

"Fun? Fun? _Fun_? While the time-stream is imperiled! The fate of worlds hang in the balance! One must prioritize." He snapped the two bolts together, pursing his lips.

"What you're doing is important, I get that. I really do. It's just…" Donna crawled under the table, lying on her back, next to Halo-Boy. He seemed unnerved by the action and shifted to the side but kept working. "…sometimes, I try so hard to get people to notice me that I end up scaring them away. Big mouth, me." She smiled softly, regretfully, "But that doesn't mean, that I just give up."

"I do not need a therapist." Halo-Boy twirled a socket-like object along a bunched coil of wires, "And the answer for the real reason you're here is: three minutes. If the other Doctors managed to do their work properly—what they _did_ do—there should be no further delays. This miniscule ship should be sea-worthy in no time."

"That's good."

"Hand me a crisp, please." The Doctor ordered casually, wadding the wires and space-ship innards into his hands and climbing out from under the table. He placed the crisp in his mouth, took a seat at the table and began poking the modified parts and wires into panels and sockets in the space-ship's hollow interior. With a nod, he accepted another crisp from Donna. "Is that all you wanted?"

"Actually, I had another question." Donna passed him yet another crisp, "It's about Peri."

"Nothing is wrong with Peri. Young, inexperienced and a great-deal too whiny for my taste but nothing intrinsically wrong." He snapped a panel shut, looking satisfied with himself when some tiny lights on the vehicle turned green.

"Yeah. But you're mean to her."

"Yes."

"But why?"

"My dear girl, I don't wake up in the morning with the intention of being an over-bearing bully…quite the opposite." He wagged a finger in Donna's face. "This regeneration was blessed with an abundance of intellectual prowess, fine intelligent features but a severe dislike of whining…as well as some…_other_ negative qualities. Still, as much as Peri and I argue, we are _fond_ of each other."

"You are?"

"Of course. Think of us as a very dysfunctional family—dedicated to sticking by each other even if being in the same room with each other makes us miserable. Hold that down a moment," He instructed, putting Donna's hand on a button, "Still, it's not like the old days with my Sarah Jane or even Romana or Jamie. My companions used to bring out the best in me and I in them….Is that a hamburger?"

"Oh, right. Yeah."

"I no longer eat meat. A run in with Androgums will do that to a man." He scooped a handful of crisps into his mouth. With a triumphant smile, he closed up the last panel with one of his gadget-tools and turned to Donna. "Finished at last. And, in record time."

Donna checked her watch. "Three hours?"

"It would have been done sooner if I could have gotten my comrades to focus." Halo-Boy said defensively, lifting the box, now sealed and invisible, from the picnic table. Half-way to the door, he turned back and looked at Donna. "Donna, bring my crisps."

Feeling like Peri, Donna smirked, lifting the snack-plate and attempting an American accent. "Coming, Doctor."

"You are a strange ginger tabby." Halo-Boy headed out the door. Surprisingly, he paused at the entrance and waited for Donna so that they could walk together toward the others. "You know, Donna, if we should "break the spell" and be able to travel without being hauled back to your location—"

"Has that been happening?"

"Hmm? Yes. The original doctor—the one with the cane—he's been trying to escape Barcelona for two days now. The TARDIS keeps dropping him off within a mile radius of this hotel."

"Creepy."

"Not really. Terribly inconvenient though." Halo-Boy stopped walking, turning to look at Donna. "As I was saying—if something should happen, and your Doctor declines to take you along…you are welcome to come with me and Peri."

"Why? Cause I can feed you crisps?" She teased, tossing one in his half-open mouth.

The Time Lord sputtered, coughing on the snack, "No, you minx!" He eyed her suspiciously, shifting the weight of the invisible box in his arms. He began trudging through the sand again.

"So you gonna tell me why you want me to come or not?"

"No. It hardly matters—after all—your Doctor seems determined to keep you."

"He…hasn't said anything. I mean, sort of, but not…" Donna bit her lip, "and I don't think he can. I mean according to Bow-tie Boy—"

"Who?"

"The one with the bow-tie and the stupid bangs."

"Ah. _Him_."

"According to him, I am "destined" to meet and travel with a regeneration between him and James." Donna frowned, stopping and the rushing to catch up, "I haven't met that one. Strange."

"I wouldn't worry about it. You've seen all the Doctors, you've seen the one. Besides, if you end up liking him well enough to travel with—he can't be too outlandish." The Doctor stopped on the edge of the picnic tables that the Doctors and companions had claimed and set the _Firespace Six_ on the ground. He looked more tired and dirty than proud as he announced, "Finished…and…in record time."

Donna wandered into the group to set Halo-Boy's plate on one of the table. It was only then that she noticed that everyone was looking at the curly-haired Doctor as if they were uncertain what to say to him. Unlike with every other Doctor that had arrived, he was not immediately invited into the circle.

Looking at his dirty, tear-stained face and bleary red-eyes, Donna was reminded of that kid in school—the chubby, loud unloved bully that sometimes looked too pathetic to be scary. Of course, most of the time, in Donna's case that kid had been her. The ostracizing had often driven her to seek revenge by biting but eventually she out-grew that. The slapping-phase had never left her though.

Donna blinked, ready to walk over and take his arm and find him something vegetarian to eat. But Peri left the dance-floor to greet her Doctor. The American smiled hesitantly in greeting. "Teagan's teaching us the Charleston. Want to try?"

"I," He began with the arrogant voice that made everyone cringe, "am quite good at a number of things. Dancing—however—is not one of them."

"Well," Peri paused, "I could help you, Doctor."

The Doctor beamed brightly, rubbing a smudge of grease off his chin but only succeeding in smearing it until he looked like an escaped chimney sweep. "Ah, but you must promise not to mind you toes being stepped on. I do have rather large feet."

Donna smiled and watched the odd couple for a minute before finding her Doctor. James Bond had a handful of playing cards and sat at a table with Ace, the Professor, Ian and Jo. He smiled, that goofy childish grin of his, at her.

"I hate to break up the trip down memory lane, Doctor." Donna put a hand on his shoulder, noticing that James had a very poor hand of cards. "But daylight's fading."

"Can't do anything until my sixth incarnation finishes."

"He's finished."

"Oh." Her doctor looked a little saddened. He tucked the cards in the spare pile and stood.

The professor began dealing a fresh hand for everyone, glancing up at James after a moment, "If you come back soon, we shall play another rrround with you. You may have better luck and actually win."

James lifted his flippers from the ground and then leaned across the table, speaking quietly but intently, "Only reason, I'm not winning is cause I wasn't counting cards."

"Professor!"

"Ace, Ace, Ace, you have been around me long enough to know that I am a Time Lord, not a messiah. And…" the Scottish Doctor paused, "I don't like losing."

"Never would have pegged you for a cheater though." Donna commented.

The Professor doffed his hat, and winked at her. "Then you should get to know me better."

James looked up from securing his flippers and frowned at his other-self. "Are you flirting?"

"Oh let the old man be." Donna sighed. She suddenly realized that she still had to get changed into her scuba-diving gear. It was one thing to be dressed in the stupid skin-tight costume in front of Don in a private pool. Quite another to be dressed like this in front of all the Doctors and their friends. This would be so shaming.

At least Adric had vanished somewhere. Thank God.

* * *

Author's Note: The Sixth Doctor is in my top three doctors of all time. And I can write him more easily...so if you were wondering why he keeps popping up... that's the reason.


	22. Chapter 22

**Doctor Who**

Because Your Special**  
**

_Underwater Baddies_

* * *

Adric held his twin red popsicles in both hands, licking each in turn. He stared morosely at the happy beach-party from his seat on a rock wall. Fine. If they didn't want him, he didn't want them. After all, it wasn't his _fault_ that Leela and Peri were so…

He chewed the top off one of his popsicles.

"Friends of yours?" A freckled young girl with a plaid bow in her hair that matched the skirt of her school uniform stood in front of him. She smiled, but it was a strained sort of false smile.

"Not anymore." Adric replied sullenly.

"You're not going back?" The girl asked, glancing down at a notepad tucked in the crook of her arm. She looked up. "It could be fun. They look like they are having fun."

"What do you care?"

"Personally?" The girl shifted, hands clasping the notepad behind her back, stance widening. It reminded Adric of a soldier's pose and made the skin at the back of his neck begin to crawl. "I don't care either way."

A jogger stopped between them. He unhooked his earbuds from his ears and turned to stare pointedly at Adric.

"Adric," The girl said flatly, "Meet my brother, Smitty."

Adric dropped his desserts and turned to run. He reached his hands toward the beach and prepared to scream. The Doctor wasn't that far away. He would hear him. He would save him.

Dark. Tight. Adric realized that something had been placed over his head, obscuring his vision and was being pulled tight to restrict his cries for help. Bundled up in the jogger's strong arms, Adric flailed and tried not to panic. He had to be brave. But all he could think of was being held in the Master's power in the darkness.

"Why? Why?" Adric's whisper was muffled.

_Why? _The girl's voice was telepathic, resounding and oddly reminiscent of the Master's voice. _Why tell you? You'll only forget in a few minutes._

Adric wriggled, feeling himself carted away, moved out of sight of the people on the beach. He heard the voice in his head again.

_It's a pity we had to do this again. Wiping your mind twice in one day is really an inefficient use of time and resources._

* * *

James carefully handed Ace the invisible box, "Careful with that."

"Aye-aye, Professor…Doctor…What shall I call you?"

"I'm the Doctor; just the Doctor."

Turning her attention from her friends, and back to the young couple sunning themselves on the beach, Donna had to smile to herself. Young and in love really could be just as sweet as old and devoted. Someday, she'd find someone and she'd be happy like that. Even if it took her a hundred years…

"Donna," James looked up at her from the boat, "you here?"

"Yeah…"

Donna took a last look at the happy pair. The girl, a blond with oversized sunglasses, had wriggled her way down to lie on a beach towel and was staring thoughtfully out at the ocean. Her boyfriend, a long lanky fellow with a huge grin and spiked hair, was fully dressed in a dark brown suit. Chattering happily, he smeared a huge dollop of sun-block across his nose.

"You'd think he'd get hot in that suit." Donna muttered, sliding down into the boat.

James peeked his head out of the boat to take a look. The curious, suspicious look in his eyes was replaced with something like confusion. "Oh…right then. This is _just _fantastic."

"What's the matter? James?"

James flipped his scuba-mask over his face, leapt onto the dock and stomped across the sand towards the sunbathing duo. His flippers scooped sand, splashing and scattering it as he moved. The way he was acting, the determination in his otherwise comical stride, made Donna start after him.

"James!"

As Donna approached the oblivious couple, she heard the blond-girl ask, "Can you do my back?" and offer her companion a pink-bottle of sun-block lotion.

"Welllll…" the boyfriend sniffed, rubbing his hands together. He placed a hand on her upper shoulder. "For you, Rose Ty…"

In a spray of sand, James arrived at the edge of the towel. The girl's sunglasses dipped off her nose as she looked up in shock. One hand reached up to rub at the sand that stuck to her poor, sun-block and sweat sticky, face. She shifted to a sitting position, spat to get the sand off her lips and raised an eyebrow at the strange, tall scuba diver in front of her. "You alright, mate?"

"James, what the…" Donna's flipper caught on a bit of rock and she nearly tripped into the boyfriend's lap. Righting herself, she watched as James reached out and took a massive handful of the boyfriend's spikey hair and pulled his head forward. With a rapid, experienced movement, he smashed the man's head backwards into the metal frame of his beach chair.

And then he repeated this process. Twice more.

Horrified, Donna readied a slap to defend the nice couple. But before she released it, James had let go of the man's hair and was glowering at him from behind the feature obscuring scuba-mask.

The Pin-Stripe Boyfriend rubbed at his head, launching himself to his feet with all the grace and speed of an ADHD eight-year-old. "Oi, what was that for?"

"Keep your hands off her." At least, that's what Donna thought the Doctor had said. Between the Doctor's northern accent and scuba-mask, it sounded for all the world like "cabbage ham-mufflers". In fact, by the time she had puzzled out that "cabbage-ham mufflers" couldn't possibly be what he'd meant and that "keep your hands off her" was much more likely, the Doctor was already marching dramatically back to the boat. Or stalking. Still upset but happy his point—whatever it had been—had been made.

Pin-Stripe Boyfriend stared after him in shock, rubbing at the back his neck. "Did you _see_ that, Rose? Oh," He paused, shaking melting sun-block from his fingers, "I have seen many strange things in this world but that has got to be in the top ten. Twenty. Oh top a hundred and twenty."

"Are you all right?" the Blond Girlfriend asked from behind the towel she was using to wipe the sand from her face.

"Ah, take a bit more than a hair-rattling to stop me. Mind you, it did hurt."

Donna began backing away, ashamed and confused. "Yeah. Sorry."

Pin-Stripe Boyfriend looked at her with a cheeky grin. "Oh, hello. Maybe you can answer a question, miss."

"Do I _look_ single?" Donna retorted, flustered.

"…Sorry." Pin-Stripe Boyfriend looked more confused at her tone than abashed, but he plunged on, "But, well…it just that I think your husband just said "cabbage ham-mufflers" to me."

"I think he did, yeah, um…must be the heat. I'd better make sure he gets some water. Again, I'm really sorry." And, her own flippers scooping and displacing sand, Donna rushed back to the dock. "Okay, you stupid martian—"

Examining his sonic screwdriver, as if everything was normal and back to business, the Doctor shouted back. "Alright you idiot Raxicoricalfalipitorian!"

"…what?"

"Trading insults and wrong species game? No? Too bad? I like that game. Makes long boat rides fun. Since we are all missing out on Leela's wedding schemes and Susan's Shakespeare recitations—I thought we could do with a little fun. Still, all's fair in love and war and party-games."

"What on the flipping planet earth are you talking about?"

Ace shrugged. "Don't look at me. I'm just here to drive the boat at unsafe speeds."

"You just…attacked someone back there! Why?" Donna hopped into the boat, not allowing his rambling to dissuade her.

"…I had a really good one too. How about obnoxious, overbearing, loud-mouthed Silurian?" James slammed a toolbox out of his way and plopped down in one of the boat's back seats.

There was a long period of silence, until Ace rubbed the sweat from her forehead and jabbed a thumb at the beach. "Maybe, I should come back…"

"How about vicious Time Lord," Donna said in a low voice, "who unprovokedly attacks strange men on beaches."

"After everything you know, everything you've seen…" James glowered at Donna, "you think that was just "a strange man"? …stupid little ties." His eyes were intensely focused on the couple still sitting on the beach, "I am _never_ wearing a tie in this regeneration. If I put on a tie, feel free to drop me off in a tiny office somewhere and run away with the TARDIS."

"Is that it? The man was wearing a tie and you had to bounce his head off his chair a few dozen times as revenge?" Donna crossed her arms, "That's stupider than when Nerys shaved all her hair off."

James looked at Donna, smiling slightly, "Yeah. Stupid. Stupid jealous old man who has lived too long…" he looked back at the couple, "and…apparently doesn't live much longer. Not like this anyway." Oddly, he tugged on one of his ears. His half-smile became bitter.

Ace sighed dramatically and tossed off the few ropes holding the boat to the pier. Sitting down in the "pilots" seat, she turned to the Doctor. "Listen, drama-king, I don't know what your issue is," she paused, "the Professor has his bad-days too, but we could all do with a little less sulking, yeah? This isn't a teen romantic comedy, you know."

"I believe the teenager just called you a sappy little girl, Doctor." Donna's comment was meant as a tease, but as she was still smarting from his last rant at her, it sounded harsher that she'd intended.

"Oi, ginger-head, I am a lot older than I look." Ace replied defensively.

Donna let the comment, the lie, slide by. Instead she focused on her silent Doctor. "Can you just tell me why?"

James shifted in his seat, staring at his long pale hands. When Ace began maneuvering away from the dock, he scuttled forward to stare off the bow of the ship and look for shallow water or rocks until they were deep enough out. For a moment, he turned, looking at the beach again and then glancing down at Donna. Her questioning look. But he just launched into a story about the last time he'd been on this sea he'd been chasing down a rogue sea-serpent that had escaped from some-sort of future zoo.

* * *

Donna held to the seat-belt around her waist, eyes scanning the horizon. The Balearic sea was choppy today and it had taken on a grayish color. They still had several hours before it would be too dark to be underwater but Donna hoped it wouldn't rain.

"This good, Buzz?" Ace called out from the pilot-seat of the tiny rented speedboat. Bundled in her oversized jacket, still sporting the black-eye and grinning like the adrenaline-junkie teenager that she was, Ace looked something like a crazed pirate.

"Yeah. Stop here…and don't call me, Buzz." James scolded, looking down at the sensor on the invisible spaceship that sat in his lap.

"Why not?"

"Because then I'll call you Dorothy."

Ace stuck a finger in her mouth, "Gag me."

James grinned, stood and dropped the spaceship into the water with a resounding splash. Donna watched the water bend in a rippling square outline as the transparent box displaced the waves and bobbed in place. A second later, mouthpiece in place and tank on his back, the Doctor dove in backwards.

He surfaced and motioned for Donna to join him.

"Yeah." Donna went through all the checks and procedures that Don had taught her and sat hesitantly on the edge of the boat. Looking at the chilly water, Donna found herself wanting to stall. "James, we just gonna leave Ace here for…however long this takes?"

"I'll be all right. I have my walkman." Ace smiled, nudging a pair of oversized black headphones that hung about her neck. "Good luck."

James lunged forward in the water, managing to haul himself up by his arms to lean over the boat's edge. "Ace, fetch the mobile from Donna's jacket."

"What?"

"In case, you should see something, I hotwired that into the _Firespace Six_. If you see anything, phone "James Bond"."

Ace snorted. "You want me to phone Sean Connery? Right on!"

James sighed, clinging to the side of the boat. "It's the _Firespace Six_'s number in the address book."

"James Bond?"

"Ace, focus." The Doctor chided, Professor-like, before he dove backwards with a noisy splash. "Donna! Are you coming?"

"In my left pocket." Donna instructed.

Donna watched Ace pat down her jacket. The girl finally pulled out Donna's slim bedazzled mobile (Nerys had gotten bored one Thursday night) and cautiously flipped it open. Ace flashed a beautiful smile in Donna's direction, and shook the cell-phone slightly. "This is wicked."

"Text, play games, but don't use all my minutes."

Ace's eyes widened. "It got games? Like Tetris? Ace!"

"Donna!"

Gathering a final gulp of air, Donna checked everything one more time and, with a prayer, slipped off the boat and into the chilly water. She moved slowly towards the Doctor, feeling more like an overweight walrus than a mermaid.

He gave her a quick thumbs up and plunged underwater. Unlike her, the Doctor was a fairly graceful swimmer but one hand was busy swinging his sonic-screwdriver through the water —almost like he was a demented witch with a magic wand—as he directed the _Firespace Six_ in front of him with sonic commands. Every few minutes, James's screwdriver would flash a pale teal color and he'd stop to check the readings and change their course slightly.

It was weird, watching the water ripple and reflect slightly over the space-box's invisible surface as the sensor-filled vehicle glided before them. If she hadn't known what it was, and been paying careful attention to its location, she might have missed it entirely. Donna just hoped the owners of the mysterious craft at the bottom of the sea didn't see it at all.

Swimming—a little too fast for her taste—Donna followed James through the gloomy water, moving deeper into the sea. Normally, if she'd been practicing in the gym, she'd have been mentally "gritting her teeth" to get through this. To get through this feeling that the water above her wasn't a glorious glittering liquid canopy but a malevolent force pressing her down into an early grave. Thinking of it made her tremble a little thinking about how many billion gallons floated above her head, but she wasn't a quitter—especially not when they were so close to their answers.

The sand of the ocean's floor swirled about thick gaps and spider-like crinkles of rock and earth. It didn't look normal, that area, the dirt looked churned and burned somehow. Donna thought she could see something darkly ruddy colored distant in one of the deep chasms—lava, perhaps.

Donna stayed in sight of the Doctor but pretended to be a ditzy tourist looking over a small sad-looking school of fish. She dared a glance at James.

He and his invisible "sidekick" darted towards a large cracked sandstone bolder. Charred markings surrounded it. Was it really a meteor of some kind? Donna checked herself, _no, not a meteor—a spaceship. _James could probably tell just by glancing at the scorch marks whether it had crashed or had a spectacular fiery underwater landing. All Donna concluded that whoever owned the camouflaged spaceship "boulder" hadn't hidden all signs of its existence. He had probably thought the water would hide it well-enough.

The Doctor's sonic screwdriver beamed a vibrant teal and he swam to the _Firespace Six_. Donna couldn't see his expression because of the goggles and the mouthpiece but she did catch the "thumbs up" gesture for them to rise to the surface. Without any hesitation, Donna rushed to his side and kept pace with him as they left the mysterious "boulder" behind.

Donna surfaced first, and yanked the mouthpiece out, gulping in fresh air. A soft gray pattering of rain splashed her head and dripped down her nose. The faintest golden light streaked the dulling sky, the last remnant of what had probably been a glorious sunset she'd missed. Donna watched a bolt of lightening flicker in the distance.

The Doctor surfaced at her side. The invisible box bobbled in front of him and he put a guiding arm overtop of it. He flashed his sonic a bright blue and waved it as high as he could.

"Did you get any readings?" Donna asked, paddling closer.

James arched his sonic in the air again and then removed his mouthpiece. He looked rather grim and haunted. He opened his mouth but closed it, frowning.

Donna heard the comforting buzzing roar of Ace's motorboat. Within a few seconds, the prow of the boat, then Ace's cheeky grin and yellow plastic-rain smock came into sight. She helped James haul the box aboard and then James and Ace helped Donna into the boat.

"I don't suppose you have a hot water bottle?" Donna asked, beginning to feel the cold at last.

"I think have another one of these raggy fashion-disasters." Ace tossed a small package with another thin "rain-coat" in it at Donna and turned her attention to James. "So did you find the underwater baddies?"

"Drive." He said, hunched over the Firespace Six with his sonic screwdriver. He might have been merely mentally processing information. But Donna had worked in enough offices that were going bankrupt to suspect that he was really trying to reconcile the data with "real life". He knew what that ugly little box said…and he didn't want to believe it.

"Fine. I don't want to be out in this weather anyway. Besides," Ace revved the engine—how she managed that on a cheap rented boat, Donna didn't know—and spun the boat about, "I've gotta get back to the Professor."

"I'm sure he's fine." Donna said conversationally. She slipped on her jacket, ruining it forever most likely, and pulled the tacky rain-coat over top.

"'Course. But it's been at least two hours—he's likely to have found himself in some trouble by now." Ace flashed a wide grin at Donna, "I don't like being left out of an adventure."

Donna smiled back and then inched across the rocking boat to James. She took his arm to steady herself. "All right, sunshine, spill it."

He didn't look up from whatever he was doing, but the muscles around his mouth tightened. Finally, with a sigh, he looked at her with a hollow empty look that made Donna almost shiver. "I don't know how and I don't know why…but it's another TARDIS. A type forty—like mine—with so many modifications and upgrades that I haven't the slightest idea what half of it is."

"Time Lords…that's what they do? Fix timelines, right?"

"Donna, it _can't_ be the Time Lords." The doctor stared down at the invisible box, as if willing the sensor data away. "And I might be a mad man in a police-box but the readings don't lie. They aren't "correcting the time-stream"…"

"What?"

"They are amplifying the temporal ripples, boosting your "natural" Doctor attracting qualities…even more than just doubling or tripling it. They've enlarged its range and scope almost a hundred-fold." The Doctor turned suddenly in his seat and took Donna by the arms. His blue eyes met hers. "They aren't fixing it, Donna, they are making it worse."

"But why would they do that? Why would _anyone_ want that?" Donna thought of Halo-Boy's comment, about how the temporal anomalies had gotten so demanding that the first Doctor had been unable to leave Barcelona. With a colder feeling inside than she felt on her chilled outside, Donna began to wonder if this was part of that Dalek trap Bow-tie Boy had been blathering on about.

"Time Lords are sworn to noninterference—that's what makes me a renegade on par with the Master and the Rani in their eyes…" He smiled roguishly, and then grew quiet again, "…meddler, they call me. But never—mostly _never_—on this scale…" He rose with an explosion of nervous energy to pace the bucking deck, "and never ever without some form of a paradox inhibitor! To risk something of this magnitude without a paradox machine is simply asking for the Reapers to descend en mass!"

"I didn't catch all of that—" _understood even less_, Donna mentally added, "but I've been thinking…Bow-tie Boy, he said this was a Dalek plot…maybe they stole a Time Lord ship?"

The ship burst forward, causing James to stumble and fall atop of Donna. Donna shoved his scrawny elbow out of her face and rubbed her forehead where he'd bumped her and began scrambling for a hold. "Ace, what do you think you're doing?"

The teen stood at the helm, pouring on as much speed as she could. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth was a thin line. Tawny hair whipping about her face, she shouted above the engines. "We need to get back to the others!"

"I agree." The Doctor shouted back, "I'll see if I can boost the engine. Donna—strap in!"

"You're both mad!" Donna screamed, her tongue bashed against her teeth. Blood streaming down her face, she cinched the seat-belt around her waist and held on. The waves were rising at higher and higher angles and the boat rocked wildly. Trying to hold down her coffee, Donna watched for the shoreline, scanning for their dock. For those that waited for them on the beach. But the dimming light and incoming rain made the shore a dark gray smudge across the water.

The boat lurched, churning through the waves at such high speeds that Donna could feel the wooden floor buckling and shifting beneath her flippered feet. With a little cry of joy, Ace pointed to the dock and steered them in. A moment later, the boat's hull splintered and crushed against the cement pier as James leaped out. He'd removed his flippers, and was racing in his barefeet for the picnic area where they had left the other Doctor and their companions.

"Donna, are you okay?" Ace clambered out of the boat, reaching for Donna's hands and eying her bloodied face.

"Never mind me. Go on! Go find your professor!" Donna spit a mouthful of blood into the sea and rolled ungracefully on the pier, a moment later she was kicking off her flippers and chasing after her friends. _Dear God_, she prayed, _please let them all be safe._

The rain swept past Donna in stinging gray sheets. The droplets fell fast and hard, making it hard for her to see. Stumbling into the sandy area where they'd left the others, Donna grabbed James' arm to keep her upright. "Where are they? Doctor? Where are _they_?"

"Professor! Professoorrr!" Ace screamed, climbing atop a picnic table, her long hair lashing about her. In her oversized jacket, with her desperate tone, all Donna could think of was a lost little child. Ace put her hand over her eyes, and spun in a slow circle, desperate for some sign of her Doctor. "Professor!"

"They wouldn't have just left…would they?" Donna shivered, clinging to James. "Doctor?"

He didn't answer.


	23. Chapter 23

**Doctor Who**

Because Your Special**  
**

_We are Not the Villains  
_

* * *

"Ah. This rain…can you believe it? A nice holiday in Spain—literally a holiday since its Christmas at this time and place—and gallons of drizzly stuff." The Doctor sniffed, holding his umbrella for his companion to shelter under. "I feel like I should sing now. You know, Gene Kelly style? What do you think about that Rose?"

"Gene Kelly?" Rose shivered in her bikini, tucking her towel closer around her.

"Rose Tyler," The Doctor said dramatically, guiding her underneath a porch of the hotel, "Next stop, 1952 _Singing in the Rain_ premiere. You'll love it. It's got dancing, singing, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles... Or was that _Princess Bride_?"

Rose laughed, that warm tinkling sound that always made him feel happy. "I don't remember any singing in the rain in _Princess Bride_?"

"Deleted scene. Everything is in the _Princess Bride_."

"Except for Time Lords."

The Doctor turned to see a woman standing in the rain. Water poured off her hair and face but she stood there, smiling and not flinching.

"Hello. I'm the Doctor. Can I help you?" The Doctor asked slowly. He eyed her carefully, sensing something wrong. Sensing some sort of menace in the slight telepathic field that the woman was generating.

"So strange." The woman—well, a girl really—pulled a tacky plaid hairbow from her hair and tossed it in the mud at her feet. "I thought she'd be prettier."

"Hold on mate." Rose tugged the towel closer, "You try being gorgeous in a tsunami."

The Doctor shifted on his feet, glancing at Rose. "You're always… you know…"

"I'm always…what?"

"You know…anyway, getting to the point." He stepped closer to the strange girl. "What do you want?"

"The usual." The girl replied dryly and the Doctor didn't like her smile at all.

And he didn't like it up to the moment that he forgot seeing that smile in the first place.

* * *

"He said he'd wait for us to get back." Ace descended from the tabletop, looking at James. She glared at him, hands on hips, plastic rain-coat flapping in the wind. "Was this a test? One of your silly "figure-it-out" games?"

"No games." The Doctor said flatly, "And no footprints."

Donna looked up at him, "What?"

"Everyone traipsed here from the beach house, my fourth incarnation and Ian went for hamburgers…" he pointed at the various footprints that were swiftly being erased by the muddy water. "…Ace ran for her boombox…"

"You remember where everyone walked?" Ace crossed her arms, moving closer to them as the rain and wind lashed at them. "What's that prove?"

"But look…no new prints. They didn't move—not by conventional means." The Doctor flipped his sonic into the air, caught it and waved it wildly before checking it. "A transmat beam."

Donna frowned, "You mean like on _Star Trek_?"

"That's a transporter beam." Ace corrected. "Not a transmat beam."

"You're absolutely correct." A new voice, but familiar came from the rainy gloom. An indistinct figure, vaguely female, stood on a wooden landing above the picnic area. The old woman leveled something palm-sized and shiny at them. "Same concept though."

Ace screamed. She faded—her entire being just gone—in a sickly green glow.

"Ace!" Donna stood in shock, holding tight to James. She straightened and glared at the woman. "Where have you taken her!"

"She's safe." The woman called, stepping lightly down the steps. "She's been reunited with her Doctor."

"And where is he…? Oh, let me guess." The Doctor stared down at the woman, placing himself between Donna and the woman. "In your underwater TARDIS along with everyone else."

"Very astute, Doctor." The woman—Donna knew she'd seen her before but couldn't place where—shrugged and leveled her shiny-gadget at him, "But then again, that's the same conclusion your other-selves made without even having a proper look at my home."

Behind the crazy lady, for the first time, Donna could see shadowy outlines of other people. At least forty or sixty, dressed like cabbies, shop-girls, bell-boys, tourists and Spanish policemen. They spread across the beach like zombies in a horror-film, until she and the Doctor were surrounded. The army was armed with space-age blasters and phasers and rifle-things, although most were lowered or in holsters. Looking at their grim, sorrowful faces, Donna noticed two things. One, whoever they were—Time Lords or Daleks—they still were people with souls, hopes and regrets—which, it seemed for many of them, this moment was definitely regrettable. Second, they all looked familiar. Donna's eyes kept focusing for a second on a face…almost identifying that person before catching another familiar pair of eyes or nose or smile. "They set us up," Donna whispered, nodding at one of them, "He was on the plane… and she was our waitress…"

"How long have you been interfering?" James demanded.

"Don't give me that look." The woman replied, unable to keep eye-contact with the Doctor. She motioned to one of her minions. The minion, an auburn haired young woman with a large aquiline nose and dressed like a private school student, began to unpack a silver camera-tripod-like object from an ordinary suitcase…that was bigger on the inside.

"What's that? A gun?" Donna whispered. "Do they mean to kill us?"

"Don't be daft, Donna Noble." The woman sheathed her gadget in a pocket on her belt. Her eyes were blue, familiar, soft and sad. "You are a fixed point in time—to kill you would end the universe. Besides, I maybe a soldier, but I don't have to kill."

"Who are you? Who are _all_ of you?" The Doctor shouted. "What gives you the right…?"

"Excuse me, excuse me."

Donna scanned the "army" and found a scrawny shape of a man in a thin cheap blue rain-poncho with a vivid red cap on his head, weaving his way into the open. He rubbed his hands down the plastic coat, and righted his fez before adjusting his soggy bow-tie. Smiling boyishly in greeting, he wrang his thin hands, "Hello all."

"Doctor?" Donna pointed, "It's Bow-tie Boy. The one that you hate."

"With good reason. Traitor." If they hadn't been surrounded by an army of aliens with guns, James would have charged across the mud and…done something violent to his older self.

"Oh. Yes. Well, I can see how this would look bad." Bow-tie Boy paused, fingers flickering, as he scanned the area. It seemed he was only aware at this moment how this might look to the other Doctor. "Yes. It might look a bit treacherous. But you're young still," he smiled jubilantly, "so you can't possibly know what's going on. And I can't explain—no point really—since you'll forget it all just like with the others."

"Forget?" James narrowed his eyes, "Forget what? That you went all "Valeyard" in your eleventh regeneration and helped round up your younger-selves? That—_that_ I'll not forget."

"You will though." Bow-tie Boy tried to sound a little sad, a little sympathetic, but underneath it Donna could see was the same grim determination that was on the other Daleks—or Time Lords— faces. Bow-tie Boy moved to stand over the "student" and the camera-thing.

James stared his older incarnation down, shoulders tense, one hand fiddling with his sonic screwdriver until its whining buzzing sound could be heard over the wind and rain.

"It's just like you forgot meeting Donna so many times in the past." Bow-Tie Boy added loudly, shrugging, "Don't be sad about it. It's putting things to right. Fulfilling destiny and all that…fun, good, wibbly-wobbly Time Lord stuff… that breaks your hearts to do."

"The Doctors." Donna slipped her hand in James, licking her bloody lips, "They only could sometimes remember me…and it's because they'd been made to forget. They made them forget me."

The woman confirmed with a slight nod. "We are _not_ the villains, Doctor, as your older counterpart has discovered. There is a very important event coming in Donna's life—in yours too—and for the universe to go on—that event, it has to happen _as it happened_. Or will happen. It must all follow script. No ad-libbing allowed, I'm afraid."

"Me and her….? Were just runaway actors in destiny's tour-de-force performance." James held Donna's hand tight, the pressure reassuring even as it was painful. "Everything we've been through…nothing more than a mistake."

Donna breathed, "But it can't be."

"Shut up!" Bow-tie Boy shouted. "I have enough guilt on these skinny shoulders to fill the Medusa Cascade—so let's get this over with so I can run off with Amy and Rory in my blue-box and forget it ever happened!"

Donna felt like charging at him, throwing him down in the mud and slapping some sense, some compassion, some common decency into this stupid cruel Doctor. But without warning, she began to hysterically sob instead. "You're gonna wipe my mind…and…and…you're not even look back You…you…" There were so many curse words swirling in her head, her mouth froze as she tried to choose one to scream at him.

James pulled Donna's head into his chest, both arms encircling her, holding his pulsing glowing sonic screwdriver protectively in front of them. Unwilling to hide, even in James's arms, she took a few deep breaths and peeked out to see what was happening.

Bow-tie Boy knelt to help the "student" finishing building the evil gadget. His face was sad, but, like all the faces around them, determined to see this through. And, whatever else it may have been—treacherous, cunning, distant, mad—it was still the Doctor's face. He was still the Doctor. Doing this to her. Taking away everything.

Through his thin scuba-suit, Donna could hear his hearts beating rapidly, feel the tension in James's body. He was holding her a little too close, a little too hard. As if by keeping her close, he could keep her—no matter what these people said. As he spoke, his breath steamed and curled in the rain, "You wanna just answer me this—"

"It won't matter in a few minutes, you'll get forget." Bow-tie Boy sing-songed, his voice echoing inappropriately across the rain-soaked beach. He glanced at the "student", sighing, "But he won't be satisfied until he hears the master-scheme. Never is." He snapped a pole to the tripod device. "This'll be just a minute. Then it will all be dry clothes and off to see the universe for everyone…well, except for Donna."

"…Why amplify the temporal anomalies? Why draw us to Donna in the first place?"

"Can't you work that out for yourself, Time Lord?" The woman asked, a hint of a girlish smile about her aged lips. She glanced down at where Bow-tie Boy and the "student" were working. "You could save them the trouble."

"And go "gently into that good night"?"

Donna looked up at James, standing brave and strong in the cold gray rain. He had never looked more heroic. Even though, Donna had to admit, it wasn't easy looking heroic in a skin-tight scuba-suit when you were skinnier than a pencil. But he was though, he was her hero.

Please God, let him save her.

"Do you know me at all?" James scoffed, a cunning dark smile on his face.

"Indeed I do." The woman's tone was suddenly weary. "I have wiped your mind many times today. A tedious, nasty business. But, I think I know you quite well."

"I am so thick." A slow creeping smile, one of realization, spread across James's face. "Right then, you lot, you're saving manpower!"

"They're making this easier…how?" Donna asked.

"Donna, think!" He released her and placed his hands on her shoulders, staring into her eyes. His smile was a bit maniac as the piece clicked into place in his head. "You've got to stop the time-distortions, you've got to stop the little meetings, the offers to rush Donna Noble away from her ordinary life and show her the stars. But so many events—wrong events, according to them—occurring throughout your lifetime. How are you going to track down every doctor and erase their memories and make sure you've gotten them all…?"

"They built a trap." Donna shivered, cold and disheartened, "To set all of you Doctors free."

"We tried taking them out one-by-one," The woman began a solemn methodical explanation, "but the time distortions were too strong. They kept being drawn back to you, like a moth to the moss. But, courtesy of a temporal anomaly amplification device—the _Polaris_—" The old woman smiled as if the name meant something to her and then stared into Donna's eyes again, "we could strengthen the distortions' pull until all of the Doctors were drawn to one convenient location."

The old woman waved at the area around them. "This little picnic, this reunion, provided us with everyone we needed, all in the same place. Our transmatter almost went down with the strain of instantaneously moving all those people aboard our ship at the same time."

"And you'll just drop them all off at their own TARDIS. They'll never know they met me. Met each other." Donna's voice fell to a whisper. It sounded so practical and sensible when the old woman explained and so frighteningly nefarious when she repeated it.

The woman nodded. She lifted a small green-blue circuit, no bigger than an eraser from her belt, "Once we implant this at the base of your skull, you'll never see another Doctor again...until it begins decaying at the proper time, the _right_ time."

"It's a safe, effective counteragent to all the temporal anomalies you've experienced." Bow-tie Boy added, placing a round glowing module on the tripod. "You'll be able to live your life normally until we're supposed to meet. It's ingenious really. Sort of like a little flood-dam that will only open at the proper time."

"You want to wipe my mind, perform brain surgery on me and then dump me back in my nothing life. What about what I want?" Donna shook off James's hands and crossed her arms. "What about what I want, you bow-tie wearing skunk!"

Bow-tie Boy looked up, "What you want hardly matter when the universe is at stake."

"Good justifier of anything." James nodded sagely, "Used that one myself."

"Doctor!"

"I'm not saying I agree." He said defensively and looked down at her. He smiled that smile that made her feel like the universe was vast and anything was possible. "Donna Noble, run!"

Yeah. Destiny could get over herself. Donna bounded into action, following James as he barreled past some "tourists" like an American football player. Donna slapped at the hands that were trying to hold her back and kicked one of them in the shin. Darting out of their grasp, she reached for James hand. They'd run. They'd run and…

An ugly pale veil of green splashed up over Donna's vision and she felt her stomach twist upside down and inside out. Screaming, she clung to the Doctor's hand.


	24. Chapter 24

**Doctor Who**

Because Your Special**  
**

_Perfect Time Lord Prison_

* * *

They were dropped in a round white room with odd circular indents wider than dinner plates on the walls. It was so poorly lit that it took Donna a moment of searching to find the faint outline of a door on the far wall. Closer by, bolted to the wall, was a bed with a thin pristine white mattress.

"Oh my God." Donna stumbled to a corner to retch.

Vaguely, as she emptied her stomach, she heard James screaming that he wouldn't stand for this. Something about he was the Doctor and he'd stop them. Flashes of the sonic screwdriver's light came on and off in erratic spurts as he bleeped up and down the doorway. After a few minutes, he was still angry, standing with crossed arms and glaring bitterly at the door.

Donna realized he was powerless. He couldn't save her this time. They'd already made their last-stand on the beach.

James kicked the door a few times before going to sit, sulkily on the bed.

"Did that help?" Donna asked, tucking one arm across her chest and wiping at her mouth.

"It made me feel better, yeah. Well, except for my toes." He flipped his sonic in the air, rhythmically catching and releasing as he stared at the floor. "I should have tried combining Rehrollo's transmat scrambler with static type three…they were likely to have been compatible. It might have given us a few more minutes."

"With your sonic?"

"Yeah. Maybe if I'd tried a more inventive transmat scrambling technique…Of course, it wouldn't have helped much with that stupid pompous fez Doctor on their side—knowing all my moves…" He looked up, blue eyes earnest and sad, "I'm sorry."

"Me too." Donna wandered over to sit next to him. He took her hand in his, almost immediately. "It would have been nice to not be anything special or important. Just be the Doctor and Donna in the TARDIS… off to see the galaxy."

"Yeah. Did I mention I was going to ask you to travel with me? I'd been wanting to ask, hand you a key and all that stupidness, but the time—it never seemed right."

Donna laughed, a harsh empty sound, "That's what all this is about. Isn't it? Not the right time."

"Okay. Okay. Now is not the _right time_ to make a pun about the _right time_."

"You daft martian."

"Get it?"

"I get it."

They sat in silence. Donna didn't want to look at the door. To just sit and wait for the woman to come and separate them…well, not forever, but for a very long time. And it would never be like this. They'd be together again…and it might be good, dazzling, brilliant and fun in the future. Maybe. But it would never be like _this_ again.

It would never be James and Donna bickering like an old married couple—half-ready to kill each other—half-ready to fall in love.

"So…?" James turned, looking at her. Frowning, he spit on a finger and wiped at her face.

"Oi, stop that." She pushed his hands away.

"What happened to you?"

"I bit my tongue and threw up. Oh and I was kidnapped by mean "time fixers"."

"Gotta look after yourself." He squeezed her shoulder. "'cause, you know what? Looks like my Prince Charming license is being revoked in about…ten minutes."

"How do you figure ten minutes…?" Donna asked wearily.

"The woman said she'd wiped all the Doctor's minds—meaning that she's the most experienced telepath among these…people…and since it would take a Time Lord at least fifteen-minutes to time to wipe another Time Lord's mind clean…and…" he babbled on, very factually, using grand hand gestures, "…so it will take them about ten minutes on Ace because she's human. That's, of course, assuming that they didn't run into any issues processing those at the beach-party."

"Naturally." Donna replied flatly. She flopped backward on the bed. Suddenly she remembered what he'd said to her in the boat after he'd attacked Pinstripe Boyfriend. She didn't want them to part with the last meaningful thing he'd said to her was an insult. Donna turned to look at him. "Am I really obnoxious?"

"Oh yeah. Most irritating woman in at least four galaxies." He flopped next to her, propping himself up on one elbow and grinning goofily. "But then, again, so am I."

"Seriously, you? You're a woman?"

"Oi!"

"Oi!" Donna replied automatically, "Still, you're the Doctor. Savior of the Galaxy. Time Lord Wonderful. You? Obnoxious?"

"Have you not met my other incarnations?" He raised an eyebrow and pretended to look serious. "That reunion would have been murderous if the companions hadn't been there."

Donna chuckled and then sobered, her lips inching into a sad smile. "Poor Leela will never know she almost found true love."

"And Peri will forget the high-land…flingy-hands stompy-dance thing…"

"And Jo'll forget that the Doctor cheats at cards…"

"Counts cards."

"Still cheatin'…" Donna reached for James hand, winding her fingers through his, "And Ace's little crush on Cricket-Lord—"

"Cricket-Lord?" James cackled slightly. He shoved himself upright, shaking his head, and waggling a long finger at her. "You can't call me Cricket-Lord."

"Listen here, mate, if you are wearing tan and keep trying to start up cricket teams every five minutes, you have got to be called Cricket-Lord. It's like… I dunno, what the word is…inevitable."

Head resting against the wall behind them, James smiled softly down at her. Shadows flitted about his eyes and there was a sad and dark look in his gaze. "Inevitable."

Inevitable. Just like her losing all her memory of James and going back to her normal life of temping and trying to find true love when everything was against her. Even time itself, apparently. Donna thumped her head against the mattress, feeling the hard metal slab beneath.

"I don't want to talk about it…" Donna looked up, "You didn't happen to have some amazing plan to get us out, did you?"

"Nope. A perfect Time Lord prison." He pointed to the wall, "TARDIS-grade metal-infused coral. Now, you might be able to resonate through it by using multiple sonic devices all attuned at similar frequencies placed…there, there," the Doctor pointed haphazardly at various places along the wall, "and there…"

"But you've got only the one sonic screwdriver."

"Yeah." He sounded a little apologetic. The Doctor slinked down the wall, copying her position so that he was also lying on his back.

"How about bleeping the door?"

"Thing is…" James crossed his arms, "that the door's triple dead-locked."

"And it doesn't do "triple dead-locked"?"

"Nah. Doesn't even do just a single dead-locked. Doesn't even do wood."

"Useful gadget." Donna sighed.

"Oi! It is, it's very good at…reversing polarity of the neutron flow…and putting up cabinets and posters and loosening lids on pickle jars."

"So…this is it then." Donna tried to guess how much time they had left. Five minutes? Six? She twisted to look at James' wrist. It was empty with a slight pale shadow where his watch normally rubbed against his skin. Right, one usually didn't wear a watch while scuba-diving. She swallowed hard. "Okay, Time Lord, how much time do we have left?"

"I'm a Time Lord," He said, exasperatedly, his accent seeming more pronounced, "Not an alarm clock."

"I thought you could feel time passing and all that amazing stuff. What sort of lousy time-related alien are you?" She teased.

The Doctor rolled his eyes and made a soft derogatory comment about apes and humans. Shifting to lay on his side, facing Donna, he stared past her and then closed his eyes. His fingers twitched lightly and rhythmically like they were following the cue of a distant metronome. "Four minutes."

"Four minutes to say goodbye." Donna said softly. For the life of her, she couldn't think of anything profound to say. All of it was too mushy and "domestic". Phrases like, "I will never be the same again" and "You've changed my life" were all too true and too clichéd. Of course, pending a certain "date" with an old mind-wiping alien soldier, they would all mean nothing and never be remembered. Just like everything they'd done together. Everything she'd seen. Everywhere they'd went.

"Don't get all weepy." He warned, "I don't do well comforting people."

"I guess there's no point in saying goodbye though. Won't remember it." Donna paused, suddenly realizing what he'd just said, "Weepy? Oh, sunshine, I only cry over old boyfriends and really good X-factor episodes. Besides," Belying her words, she felt liquid squeezing out of the corner of her eyes, "my face is pretty much wrecked already without me getting all emotional."

"You know what, Donna?"

She blinked hard, wiping at her nose, "What?"

"You were fantastic." He smiled broadly, "I think we were even friends."

"Yeah." She smiled back, "Wow. That came out a bit fast…long time since I've had a best-mate. I mean a real one. Not a Nerys."

"Donna, can I ask you something stupid?"

Donna laughed, slicking her cold damp bangs out of her face. Looking down at him, she noticed that his face was earnest and his smile had gone. "Alright, sunshine, shoot."

"Okay, it's stupid. A really big stupid question. And since our brains are scheduled to be squash in three minutes, you can laugh all you like." He propped his head up with both hands beneath his head. "Did you love me—?"

"Seriously?" Donna shook her head, "You're always on me about flirting and telling me that Time Lords "don't do that" and now—at the last second—you want me to get all romantic?"

He rolled into a sitting position, crossing his arms and staring at the floor. "I know, I know. It's not that I want to snog or anything—"

Donna rubbed at her face, glancing at him sourly, "Thanks for nothing."

The Doctor turned to her, raising his eyebrows. His beautiful eyes flickered over her face. "You want to snog?"

"No…well, I don't know! You're the one that brought it up!"

The Doctor smiled. "So you love me?"

Donna punched him in the arm, forcing herself to a sitting position and staring at the door. She half-imagined she heard the footsteps of their captors.

"You love _me_. Right? Not the fantastic adventures and the genius of the Doctor."

"You _are_ the Doctor, sunshine."

"My point is," He swept some hair from her forehead, smiling gently at her, "not just _any_ version of me…just _me_."

"Why does it matter?" Donna's voice had grown soft. She realized she was leaning towards him, staring into his eyes. She blinked, withdrawing. If only she hadn't been vomiting a minute ago, she really would have snogged him.

"Because it's not fair that he gets both you and Rose."

"Who? Your replacement persona?" Donna's hand twitched, longing to slap him. But since they were moments away from being separated, and he wouldn't remember anyway, she tightened her jaw and glared at him. "So as long as I'm not head over heals with Pinstripe Doctor, my feelings barely matter! It doesn't matter if I love you at all, just as long as I don't love _someone else_!"

"Donna," He cupped her face in his hands, staring at her, "In a few minutes, your love will be the only thing that'll matter. You can erase memories, edit the facts. You can't change feelings."

Donna bit her bottom lip, feeling oddly feminine and weak, "Do you love me?"

With a grating, scraping sound, the door to their prison was unlocked and pushed aside. Stepping lightly inside, the old woman smiled at them. "I knew you were a couple."

The Doctor rose, standing protectively in front of Donna, his arms crossed. "'bout time you greet your guests! Quite rude, inviting us in and ignoring us! Didn't you parent's teach you the basics of hospitality?"

"I'm loomed," The woman said flatly, "like all of my siblings."

"Loomed?" Donna questioned, reaching to hold the Doctor's hand.

"Fully grown offspring created by a progenation device or, as known on Gallifrey, a loom." The Doctor kept his eyes on the old woman. "That why you're got no heart? Daddy issues?"

"You have no idea, Doctor." The woman pursed her lips, "No idea."

"Order some tea and we'll chat. I could do with a cuppa? How about you, Donna?"

The woman lifted a tiny object from her belt. The device was different from the transmatting object that she'd used on them earlier; this one circled around her hand in a glittering metal band and glowed a faint blue color.

"I'm sorry…" The woman said quietly, aiming the device at them with one eye shut, "…father."

A sparkle of electric blue current arched through the air and lanced into James's chest with a splash of light. His legs folded beneath him and the Doctor crumpled to the floor with a heavy thud. Donna felt his hand wrenched from hers as it followed his body to the floor.

"You've killed him!" Donna screamed.

The old woman stepped closer, the device glittering menacingly again, "How would that preserve the time line?"

"And…that's all that matters?" Donna tightened her hands into fists and stood straight. Preparing herself for her own fiery blue laser, she settled back on her bare feet. She thought of her final conversation with James, that her love might remain after her memories were ripped away. She hoped it was true.

"Today…? Yes." The woman activated her device and blue light flared around Donna.


	25. Chapter 25

**Doctor Who**

Because Your Special**  
**

_Its Not Fair_

* * *

Trussed up to an alien operating table, in her scuba-diving suit, Donna Noble was having flashbacks to all those horrid UFO movies. Except, she wasn't a pretty young girl and her hero was lying on a similar table somewhere instead of plotting the rescue of the century. She felt like crying—not weeping but the sort of hysterical, terrified sobbing that never looked attractive on film.

In the corner, she heard the sound of rushing water and a soap pump squishing goop onto Bow-tie Boy's long pale fingers. "It won't be just a minute," He called in the same tone of voice that one might use as if he was announcing that supper was on its way.

"Take your time." She replied flatly, staring up at the circular patterns on the ceiling. They were regular, structured and unique. Language. A language she'd seen before. Squinting, Donna realized that she recognized it from her brief time on the Doctor's TARDIS. The golden lettering rippled and shifted into a neat block script that read "Med Lab 6 Emergency Supplies".

"So," She turned her head to the Doctor, "They are Time Lords."

"Cool, isn't it? Not Time Lords—proper ones—you know but Neo-Gallifreyans, a brand new species based off of human and Gallifreyan genetic structures. They won't let me look into their genetic structures too much—unless I want my own mind wiped. Something I don't fancy."

"No kidding." Donna shot at him, struggling against the straps before slumping backwards and fixing the nerd-Lord with a glare.

Slapping his hands together and rubbing them nervously, Bow-tie Boy dropped to a chair in front of Donna. His dark hair slung in front of his hollow eyes, and he looked suddenly very old and very depressed. Shifting forward, he moved to gently sweep Donna's bangs back.

She turned away from him, blinking hard.

Undeterred, the Doctor's fingers stroked her forehead and then lightly rested at the side of her face. "I miss you, you know."

"I guess you're lucky," She turned back, eye lids hot, "that you_ happen_ to be the one allowed to remember."

"This isn't what I wanted…" He stroked her cheek, "I don't want to do this."

Donna wriggled in her bonds, staring into his intense ancient eyes. "Then don't. Please. I don't want to go back. Please."

He smiled sadly, before jumping from his seat and pacing the room. Gesturing wildly, he looked anywhere but at her. "You're forgetting the bigger picture, Miss Noble. Sometimes, you can ignore the big picture. Run along and play football with your mates or eat a whole package of jammy dodgers—but sometimes…" He collapsed backwards against the wall, looking at her with a blank horrified stare, "you just can't. You just can't. You have to do the right thing."

"I'll fight you, you know."

He raised his dark eyes to hers and he smiled faintly, a sad cheeky little smirk. "With the whole universe at stake?"

Bow-tie Boy walked over and reached to jimmy a lever on Donna's bed. The surface beneath Donna's feet jarringly dropped inch by inch as her the portion beneath her head raised, until she was half-leaning-half-standing like Frankenstein's monster. With a graceful geeky whirl of the desk chair, he knelt backwards on it, his face inches from hers.

"The temp from Chiswick. Most important woman in all of creation…one day." He rested his arms on the back of his chair, laying his chin on them. "And do you know why you're so special?"

Donna looked at her strapped down arms and legs and rolled her eyes. "You have to be kidding me," she muttered quietly and looked away from him.

"Because you told me, in the fires of Pompeii, when the whole world was at stake, "Never mind us"." You were willing to die to save other people. An ordinary woman willing to make extraordinary sacrifices." He shrugged, scrubbing his hands together before placing them on her temples, "So, you can fight me—and lose—or you can do the harder thing, the _right thing_, and save the world—save the universe again—by giving up a little of your soul."

"It's not fair." Donna felt him inside her head now, a rush of golden thought—if thoughts could be a color—and a pleasant babbling sound like water mixed with a foreign language. The intrusion, tentative at first, became stronger as it met no resistance.

"It never is." Bow-tie Boy breathed before closing his eyes.

Donna closed hers, her thoughts tumbling in the tide of his will. She could feel her memories flashing with clarity—a lightening bolt flash—before being dashed into shards and pulled away.

…_The bloodied battered "cowboy" in the snow, looking lost and bitter. Picking out the jacket. Dancing in the snow…the cannibal foodies chasing them...his arm around her…his gleeful face over the invisible Fire-space 6…Halo-Boy and Peri…Ace and the Professor…The Valeyard and the Dreamlord… _Donna whimpered. Memories were flitting about and disintegrating so fast now._ Leela and Jamie…Tegan and Nyssa…James attacking the stranger in pinstripess on the beach…saying goodbye. His goofy boyish smile. His stupid huge ears. His bright blue eyes that were always so sad and so hopeful too._

Donna opened her eyes, her vision blurry. "Goodbye, Doctor."

He opened one eye and winked at her, his voice soft. "Not goodbye, Donna. You'll be seeing me—a younger me, anyway—soon."

"Soon," she repeated. She wasn't sure what she was waiting for, exactly. Nor what she was hoping would happen _soon_. But there was a girlish flutter in her gut like anticipation, and warmth like affection filled her. Donna felt so comfortable. Drowsy and warm. She blinked and her head nodded against the headrest.

"Soon." She heard a stranger's voice say as she fell asleep.

* * *

It must have been some night, Donna thought groggily, looking at the stray beer bottles on her nightstand. Pushing herself upright, she winced as the room spun about her. And she'd promised herself that she _wouldn't_ get snockered this Christmas. That she'd remember her holiday unlike last Christmas. There had probably been another "invasion" from "martians" and she'd missed it.

Inching her way to the bathroom, Donna promised herself that next Christmas she would watch her alcohol intake. No way was she going to have _three_ memories of Christmas, right in a row, non-existent.

After retching, dressing, retching again, sipping water, ordering coffee and retching again, Donna stood on her balcony and overlooked the sunny sea. Beautiful. But not exciting. The shoreline looked cold and lonely for some reason. Sipping her coffee, Donna decided she was going home. Scuba-diving in Spain? Alone? What had she been thinking?

Probably she'd just been trying to impress Don at the gym.

The next morning, Donna settled into her airline seat. She had just flipped open a gossip mag to check on the latest Brad and Angelina news, when a shadow fell over her.

"Hello?" It was a timid, stuttering American voice. The woman looked like she'd escaped from some tacky eighties sci-fi show.

"Hi," Donna replied, staring at the woman's short bobbed brown hair and strange fabric headband, "Are you my seat-mate?"

"Yeah." The woman dropped into the seat and promptly kicked off her heels. "My feet are killing me. One would think I spent all night dancing the samba or something. You—you—don't mind, do you?"

"As long as they don't smell and are not in my face." Donna shrugged and offered a hand, "I'm Donna."

"Peri." The woman smiled shyly, "I was actually supposed to be in second-class, but at the last second, the Doctor—my friend—had a change of heart. And here, I was, wondering if he had one."

"Rough relationship?"

"I'll say," Peri stuttered, "Just when I think I've got him figured out, he goes and changes on me."

"I hate it when blokes do that." Donna said sympathetically. She turned back to her magazine and tried to sort out what she was going to say to her Mum when she got back to her normal life. She certainly wasn't going to tell her Mum that most of the holiday was hazy and had consisted of drinking copious amounts of booze. Sylvia Noble wouldn't be happy with that. She'd have to lie and say she met a really nice bloke and that the scuba diving was excellent.

* * *

Author's Note: For those about ready to kill me for doing this to Donna, keep reading, please. You've plodded along this far. =)

Okay, why a Peri sighting? I wanted to show that even if the memory of Donna has been erased from Six, she still had an effect on him and that those two are going to be okay. This may not matter to anyone else but Six is one of my favorite Doctors and I didn't want to leave him and Peri in a bad spot. *gasps for air, phew*


	26. Chapter 26

**Doctor Who**

Because Your Special**  
**

_Best-Mates  
_

* * *

The Doctor slipped into his TARDIS, and leaned back heavily against the doors. For a minute, he just stared up at the console, noted that Amy and Rory were sprawled out on the floor with an alien board-game that neither of them could possibly understand between them on the floor. Swallowing, he straightened his bow-tie and climbed the ramp with a forced bit of energy.

"Look who the cat dragged in, Mr. Williams." Amy's Scottish voice went high as she teased. Swinging her long legs around, she sat up and gave him a pouty grin. "Do you have any idea how late it is, Doctor? I even sat up for you."

"I'm Nine-hundred and nine, Pond. I can keep whatever hours I like." The Doctor replied with a small smile. He kept his pace and wandered past the newly-weds to descend to the lower section of the TARDIS console. Settling his goggles on his face, he flopped into the swing and consoled himself by stroking a wire-snap above his head before tugging down some wires. He really wasn't sure what he was going to do with them but when he couldn't fix the world, sometimes fixing the TARDIS was the next best thing.

"So that's it?" Amy called down, flopping on the glass floor above him. "You said you were off to meet an old friend and I couldn't come and then you're back without so much as a "how-do"?"

The Doctor waggled his fingers at her. "How do, Pond?"

"Amy, it's late." Rory, the sensible one of the pair, shuffled about above the Doctor's head. Twisting slightly, the Doctor could see him cleaning up the board-game. He was always cleaning up after Amy, which was good because she was like a tornado of energy and adventure and every room she went in showed it. The Doctor had gotten a little sick of making sure she put the jam in the fridge when they'd been traveling without Rory.

"Rory." Amy said sharply, leveling a "don't you boss me about" look at her husband and turned back to the Doctor. "So, we're leaving Barcelona, yeah?"

"As soon as I finish with this," He called up, twisting two wires together for absolutely no reason. Well, they were the piping that carried the bio-commands from the console to the rest of the ship, one primary wire and one secondary wire so it made some sense for them to be together.

"Right. Well, since you're in such a foul mood, I'm going to bed." Amy bounced off, slapping Rory playfully on the arm before vanishing from the room.

The Doctor untwisted the wires he'd just twisted together. No, putting both the backup and the primary wires together meant they stood a better chance of being damaged at the same time. That would be bad.

The Doctor turned his head at a sound to his left. Rory, dropping the board-game box down on a step, sat down on one of the stair and looped his arms through the stair railing. The young man smiled slightly in greeting.

"Doctor…?"

"Hmm?" He turned his body slightly, the swing sweeping back and forth with the movement. Hands entangled in wiring, he peered at Rory from behind his goggles. "What can I help you with, Rory the Roman?"

"Nothing. I just wanted…" Rory fiddled with the zipper on his poofy "Marty McFly" vest—which the Doctor always thought was sort of ironically appropriate since Rory was a time traveler too now—and watched the Doctor with a quiet thoughtful expression. "…are you okay?"

"Of course, I'm okay. I'm always okay. I'm the King of okay." He swung wildly back and forth on his swing. He stopped and gave Rory a questioning look with a slightly demented smile. "Why would you think I'm not okay?"

Rory shrugged. Polar opposite, the Doctor noted, his wife was an extrovert to the point of being a kissagram and Rory kept mostly to himself. Which made it difficult for the Doctor to make friends with him—especially when the only thing they had in common was looking after Amy, time traveling and having an interest in medicine and helping others. Of course, that list was much larger than the one he'd had with Teagan or Peri.

Rory paused, eyes staring at the ceiling as he tried to sort out what he wanted to say, and how to say it. For someone like the Doctor who always blurted out his thoughts, it seemed to be an unnecessary and irritatingly long step in the talking process.

"Well, when you think of it, drop it in a postcard, will you Mr. Pond?" The Doctor returned to his project.

"You seemed so happy this morning." Rory leaned his head on his hands that were folded on the stair's railing. "And you come back and you're not."

"You shouldn't read too much in to that. I'm a Time Lord. We get terrible mood-swings. You know, harmless geek to mad man in seconds. Probably something to do with temporal tides. Vortex seasons. Maybe volcanic eruptions. Really it could be anything. Bad fish and chips…an uncomfy pair of socks…" He split a wire apart, cleaning the oil off by rubbing the ends on his extended tongue. He glanced over at Rory, who was shaking his head and preparing to head for his bed.

"You want to help?" He asked, removing the wires from his mouth and swallowing.

"Only ones you haven't licked."

"No. No. No! Help fix the TARDIS."

Rory stopped, crouched on the stairs, blinking. "You mean it?"

"Of course. You're not as stupid as you look, you know. Some people are—which I think is just tragic and not very mysterious or cool." The Doctor reached into his pocket and pulled out an extra pair of goggles. This pair had one cracked lens and a mechanical Victorian look to them. He tossed it at Rory. "Besides, I think the TARDIS likes you. She didn't drop you into the pool yet. That's a good sign."

Rory slipped through the railing, cautiously pulling on the goggles and kneeling by the Doctor. "What do you want me to do?"

"Hold that." He dropped a panel and some gears into Rory's hands. He found himself smiling, genuinely smiling, and was glad of it. "And…just, be good company, Roranicus."

"Can you not call me that?" Rory complained. But since Rory tended to put with a lot, his few complaints didn't get on the Doctor's nerves like Amy's usually did.

"I could. Yes. I could. But where would be the fun in that?" The Doctor removed a gear from the panel Rory held, "On a scale of one ant to all eternity, does it bother you that much?"

"I dunno." Rory considered, balancing the improvised tray and watching the Doctor work with curiosity. "It just reminds me of battlefields and my men dying and killing my best-friend."

"Who was that?"

Rory blinked at him. "Amy, Doctor, Amy's my best-friend."

"Oh that's right. You shot Amy."

"Yeah."

The Doctor stopped what he was doing. He looked Rory in the eyes and said softly, "I just killed my best-friend today. Not from a gun in my wrist but by wiping her clean of her magnificence, her bravery and all of the times—the best of times—that we had."

Rory shifted into a sitting position, his blue eyes staring up sympathetically. "I'm sorry."

"And the worst part of it is…" The Doctor stared off into space. Remembering tears streaming down Donna's face, her whole body shuddering as she begged him not to take her memories. "This wasn't the first time."

Rory didn't ask any question. For a moment, they sat in quiet companionable silence. The Doctor rocked lightly on his swing and dropped a few more gears into Rory's panel-tray.

The sandy-haired human inched his goggles up from his nose to his forehead. "Do you want a hug? Would that be awkward? Yeah…probably."

"I haven't the slightest idea."

"Well…yeah." Rory added mindlessly, seeming a little more uncomfortable than normal.

Rory didn't seem to want to explain why hugging would be awkward. Which was alright, the Doctor supposed, he could probably guess at the reason if he really wanted to put some mental effort into it. For his part, the Doctor liked hugging his friends. It made him feel connected with other people. Granted, he hadn't hugged all his companions—only the closest ones and some like Amy and Martha had always seemed to get the completely wrong idea…Oh. What was it with these humans from the twenty-first century who made everything out to be about romantic love and romantic interest?

Swinging again, the Doctor announced, "Okay. No hugging. Except for you and Amy. And me and Amy. I can still hug Amy? Can't I? We hug…you know…usually after you've died again."

"Why is that?" Rory looked up, "Me dying all the time. What is up with that?"

"Oh, the universe probably hates you. It does you know. Hate people. Certain people just have all the bad-luck." He nodded like a wise man, gesturing with his fingers, and grinning wildly, "Like Frodo Baggins. Nothing ever worked out for him. Plus he lost a finger."

"Frodo's not real."

"That is the biggest lie in the universe. Also the best secret." The Doctor smiled conspiratorially. "We'll keep it from Amy, eh?"

"That Frodo _is _real?" Rory chuckled lightly, "So what exactly are we doing here?"

"I believe the term is "hanging out" like regular blokes. Or two very old men who have been both healers and warriors in their times." The Doctor paused, "Unless you want to go to bed."

Rory shook his head. Something in his slight grin made the Doctor think that even newly-weds needed some time away from each other.

"Go on then," Rory settled into a more comfortable position. "Tell me about your friend."

"Oh… you don't want to hear that…it's mushy. Domestic."

Rory fixed him with a look that seemed to say that he did in fact want to hear it and that, no, he wasn't Amy, and that he actually liked domestic. Which all rang true. Rory had always been the one trying to chase Amy up the aisle.

"I could tell you about the TARDIS's bio-command structure?" The Doctor said hopefully.

"Another time, Doctor. Now, you, tell me about your best-mate."

"It's not a very happy bed-time story, Mr. Pond. No happily-ever afters…But it does have its exciting beginning." The Doctor nudged his foot to send his swing rocking, "I was on the TARDIS, in the vortex, no way to get in—now suddenly, a very angry ginger-haired bride appears in a sort of goldish glow…now, unknown to both of us, we'd already met before…a lifetime ago, for me…"

* * *

Donna sat quietly on the TARDIS's jumpseat, discreetly rubbing at stray tears on her cheek. Tired. And not the good tired—not the satisfied at a good day's work contented feeling—but, instead, the utter empty, stupid can't-think straight, drained of emotion tired. The only thing that sounded good to her was her bed.

She looked over at her wild-haired elf in pin-stripes. Quiet. He was quiet too. And old, exhausted looking. But he was not beaten down; a little of his dashing energy lingered and flickered in his eyes. He'd saved River. Amazingly, brilliantly, triumphantly, he'd snapped River Song up from the jaws of death and the abyss and let her live forever inside CAL's dream. Not exactly a happily ever after but a better ending than she and Lee—her beautiful, sweet fictitious husband—had gotten.

"Am I a burden to you?" She asked, putting a sharp edge to her voice.

The Doctor slipped around the console to make eye contact with her. He blinked and grabbed at the nape of his neck and made his "Donna-is-being-incomprehensible-again" face. "…sorry?"

"It's a simple enough question, sunshine." She rose from the jumpseat and went to lean on the console, next to the Doctor, her arms crossed. "Am I a burden to you?"

"'Course not. Well…there was that one time when I had to drag you across the Bigminilili Wastelands for a mile or so…" He paused, smacking the side of his head, "Oh! Oh! I am so thick."

The Doctor skirted around the console, busying himself with some pointless switch-flicking and gear shifting and whatever else TARDIS console button pushing thing that seemed to randomly come to his mind. Unable to make eye-contact, he muttered quietly, "Yeah…yeah…this is about the… wellll…the _thing_."

"Yeah." She prompted, reaching up to tighten her ponytail, "The _thing_. The whole send Donna away by tricking her into a transporter _thing_."

"Transmatter." He corrected, sniffing, "Transporter is _Star Trek_…Donna, I was saving your life! You know—saving you from the evil predatorial shadow-monsters—you know—saving people? Vashta Nereda? Eaten alive? No…no?"

She glared at him, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry. So sorry. I know! Where do you want to go? How about Barcelona—not the planet, the city—I could use some dampers for my sonic screwdriver…? No? How about we go see Benjamin Franklin—haven't seen him in forever—did you know that he used to have…?" The Doctor's babbling died out slowly. Not because he lacked the steam, but because Donna's look was having the appropriate effect. "Donna," Hands in his pockets, he shifted on his heels, "I take care of you, that's the deal. And if I think that I need to save you—against your will—then, well, that's what I'll do. I shouldn't have to apologize for that."

"No."

"Donna…" he drew out her name like an exasperated sigh.

"I'll tell you the deal, Martian boy. You save me from killer robots, runaway taxis, fire-monsters in ancient Pompeii, rabid Ood…seriously, whatever monster the day brings—" Donna looked him in the eyes, "and I keep you from getting yourself killed doing it—or going all _dark Doctor_ crazy on the galaxy."

"…that's sweet, Donna. Bit Weird. Completely inappropriate, you know, but… sweet."

Donna clicked her tongue in annoyance.

"Alright. Not sweet. Not weird…" He sighed, leaning against the TARDIS too. He was close enough that Donna could reach out and hug or slap him, if she wanted too. But she didn't. She wanted to discuss this like adults. Or like a really ancient geeky Time Lord and his ginger-haired Temp.

"You need someone." Her voice was soft and only barely audible over the whirring mechanical-organic sounds of the living Time Ship as it whirled through the vortex. "Remember. You said so."

"Donna…you can't always be there to stop me." He frowned, "Scary thought, isn't it?"

Donna remembered River Song's face when she'd been told Donna's name. That look as if Donna's ending was so very sad. Like Donna was nothing more than a forgotten ghost or some dusty myth. She bit her lip, shaking away thoughts of her mysterious unknown future, "How can I be there—to stop you—if you ditch me when things get interesting."

"Interesting? Try scary. Deadly. You saw Miss Evangelista? The skeleton? All black shadow and stripped bone. Not a good look." He sniffed, whirling away, "And that happened to Other Dave and to Proper Dave and to…"

"I don't care." Donna insisted, rubbing a hand up and down her other arm. "That's the deal. We save each other. What we don't do is go off on solo-adventures with good-looking archeologists."

"Don't be jealous of a dead—digitally immortal—woman, Donna."

"Well, maybe I don't have knowledge of the future or call you pretty-boy, but I'm just as good as she is."

"Better." The Doctor grinned up at her, from where he was bent over the controls, his crazy hair spiked and flattened in odd shapes after running about the haunted Library all afternoon. "Mind you, she did have a sonic screwdriver."

"I'll take a sonic screwdriver."

"You?"

"You taught me how to pilot the TARDIS—sort of. How hard can a screwdriver be?" Donna blinked, "Never mind. Listen, the point is—"

"That you're mad. You're mad…You're mad that your face got put on one of those librarian statues."

"What? My face? My face..?" Donna shuddered, thinking of the creepy "flesh aspect" that had spoken to them in the Library. "Thanks for telling me, mate."

"Oh. Sorry." The Doctor spun back around the console, moving closer to her, "Here. I promise—Time Lord's honor—" He saluted two fingers from his left heart to his hairline, "I won't save you in really deadly situations. Happy?"

"Sometimes," Donna growled, flopping back on the jumpseat, "Donna doesn't want to be saved. Donna wants to play with the other kids—even if it hurts—especially because a certain crazy brilliant Time Lord is rubbish on his own."

"I am not." He returned, pulling a surprised face, "I'm very competent on my own. I do it every few years and…and…welll…hate every minute of it. Just so that's established," he wraggled his index finger at her, "I am _not_ complete rubbish on my own. Not exactly at the top of my game but not rubbish."

"Would you listen to me for a minute, you stupid Martian?" She snapped, "I don't want to be manipulated and I don't want to be separated. I'm your companion; I keep you company no matter what happens. I didn't spend all that time trying to find you so I could be put in a box like a china doll when things get hard—when you really need me."

"Whatever you say, Donna." The Doctor grinned cheekily, but something mysterious and distant was going on in that crazy head of his.

"Fine. But you do it to me again and I'll punch you in the face."

"Right." The Doctor agreed amiably, putting on his brainy specs and bouncing about the console room. He started whistling cheerily but too much had happened in the last day for him to maintain his pseudo-I'm-always-alright-jubilance for more than a few minutes.

Not willing to start another fight, Donna glanced down at her chest. Nope. Her virtual diet had only paid off with virtual pounds. Like everything else in CAL's little dream-world, it didn't exist or matter in the real world. She glanced up, "He made me forget you. That Dr. Moon. Any part of me that tried to wake up and remember, he made me forget."

"Not like he had a choice." The Doctor replied, fiddling with some wad of pink wires he'd removed from somewhere in the TARDIS. He slapped the wires into his other hand and weighed them before glancing at Donna. "Do these look red to you?"

"They're pink."

"So they are. Going color-blind me." Bouncing on his heels, he began to talk about Dr. Moon, "You take that much raw data information from a human brain and try to hold it inside the head of a virtually constructed avatar of personality, will and soul and you doom everyone stored on the hard-drive. Limited space in the virtual reality—CAL's dream. So you store the memories—like ham in a freezer—accessible but hard to get to."

Donna frowned, trying to follow his analogy. "What? Ham in a freezer?"

"Lippy-tappy too-taa."

"What? Doctor?"

"And now," he wafted the wires in the air and let them fall in shreds about his head and shoulders. Poking at them with the sonic screwdriver, he smiled cheerily at her, "I have your full attention. I hate it when I'm trying to explain a multi-faceted concept in as interesting a way as I can and your eyes glaze over."

"Okay," Donna sighed, "In order to save my life and everyone else, Dr. Moon and CAL had to take away some memories. Condense things down. I get that bit. But it still feels wrong."

"Getting mind-wiped so that you can survive?" He twisted in his wiring wad. If he wasn't careful, he was going to trip and be buried under his mountains of pink wires. "Yeah. Not the ideal way to do it. I did it once."

"Really…on yourself?"

"Yeah. Made myself human, stored my Time Lord energy and knowledge in a fob-watch. Took myself down to my bare essence…" He grinned and then grew a bit thoughtful, "Ignorance is bliss, you know. John Smith was a decent bloke, good job, woman who loved him, pursuing family and domestic happiness. Simple. But the wake-up call..." He stopped smiling, eyes staring down at his hands, "…let's just say, less than pleasant, eh?"

"Dreams are beautiful…" Donna thought of Josh's eyes, Ella's beautiful hair, Lee's geeky charming smile, holding her family in her arms, being loved. "Precious even."

"And…?"

"I love traveling with you, sunshine." Donna wiped at her cheek, blinking away at sudden weepiness, "And I don't want to have some fabricated, manipulated happiness if you're out there on your own. I guess, truth is, I'd rather be your mate than some other bloke's wife. 'Course, makes it easier to say when's Lee's not real and you are."

"Skinny Martian beats happy home life with the perfect man?"

"I loved him." Donna bit her bottom lip. She had loved Lee, really, really loved him. Donna had been more heart-broken then she'd ever been in her life when she'd realized she'd never hold him again. That he'd seemed so real, and wasn't, still stung inside. But, looking back, at the choppy segmented narrative of CAL's dream world, she really hadn't known him. They'd leapt past long relationship establishing conversations. They'd leapt past common interests. They'd leapt past a foundational friendship. And without that, it wasn't—couldn't have been—a very strong, lasting sort of love. They'd sort of glided through the virtual years—snippets of moments—without any of the testing or trials or troubles that made love mature.

She wished they could have had those moments. Any moments. Just a few real minutes.

Donna cleared her throat, giving the Doctor a weak smile, "But, honestly, he was no James Bond."

"Neither am I." The Doctor pointed out, finally slogging his way free of the wire-monster he'd created. With a graceful leap, he bent over a portion of wires and began cutting them with a tiny pair of sewing shears he'd taken from his pocket. As usual, Donna hadn't the slightest clue what he was doing or why today was the "snip the pink-wires after messing them all up" day. Could be he was just bored.

"You're close enough." Donna shrugged. "You know what? Back there, in the dream, I missed missing you. Does that make any sense? Missing something you don't know is missing?"

"Yeah. Happens to me all the time. See I'm a big mysterious Time Traveler with tangled convoluted past and future time lines. There are reality changes, subsequent memory loss, temporal adjustment…" he glanced up, "A lot of things are in flux-out there. A few meant-to-be's. A few forever-destined. A few star-crossed romances—and all that—but they are rare. Blocks of immovable stone surrounded by ever changing tides."

"So what do you miss missing?"

The Doctor paused, "Well…do you promise not to laugh?"

"Who do you think I am? Nerys?"

"And no going to tell Martha and giggle behind my back. I can't stand gossipy gigglers."

"Sunshine, I won't tattle and I won't chortle." She tucked her tongue in the side of her cheek, "Satisfied?"

"Fine. Okay. Alright. Socks."

"You…miss socks? _Socks_?"

"I bought a really nice pair of socks years ago. I bought it with my leather jacket—well not mine, it used to be mine before I got a mole and new teeth and started wearing trainers—but those socks were fantastic. Really brilliant. Cozy in winter, cuddly in summer. The perfect socks." He rested an elbow on his knee, staring off into space with a goofy dreamy smile, "Now, I have worn a lot of socks in my lifetime…lifetimes…but to the point… brilliant comfy socks."

"Blimey, Doctor." Donna, not allowed to laugh, stood in a sort of uncomprehending shock. "Socks? I thought you were going to say something profound."

"You asked." He said defensively. "And I spent weekends—back when I wore a leather jacket and not trainers—looking for that shop. I can't find it. My memory of that purchase is all hazy. Tragic isn't it? And I miss being him, being _me then_, missing those socks."

"I'm sorry, mate. But that's just daft."

"Donna," He said, looking up with infinite patience, "I am a very eccentric man. Just accept. Don't judge."

"Well, now I know what you want for Christmas."

"I don't want just _any_ socks—you know, what?—drop it. Okay?" He bounded up, "How about we find a nice place and get some coffee, eh? Me and you? Best coffee in the universe! The verdant legendary coffee-fields of New New Mexico City on the planet of New New Earth! If you hit it during the right season, they'll let you go and pick your own beans—although that's time consuming—and really not that much fun, come to think of it. But still, a nice cup of coffee…?" He looked at her hopefully.

"Yeah. Sounds like fun." They could do with a little fun. Might be interesting to see her nerdy Martian on caffeine—though he might just vibrate right through the atmosphere. And, she smiled, grabbing a hold of the console as the Doctor brought them out of the vortex, sometimes it was just good to be with your best mate doing something pointless, fun and a little stupid.

"You know," He grabbed his brown overcoat from the hollow of his "coat-stand" coral column, "I was going to take Rose here but we never made it."

"Poor Rose." Donna smiled affably. It never hurt her to hear the Doctor talk about his ex-companion. She loved the Doctor, but not in that way, so she never felt jealous like Martha had. "I guess that makes me special."

He grinned boyishly and grabbed Donna's hand and led her into the warm golden-green sunlight. "I guess it does."

* * *

Author's Note: This the beginning of the end. Promise.


	27. Chapter 27

**Doctor Who**

Because You're Special**  
**

_Who are you...? James Bond?_

* * *

The Doctor muffled a cry, inching to the door of his war-battered blue box. Sometimes, he thought, using his stained hands to pull him to his feet and pushing back the heavy wooden door to tumble into the dark quiet of the TARDIS, sometimes, everyone dies… even him. The door clicked shut behind him, silencing the sounds of lingering carnage from beyond.

He was having trouble breathing now, the shrapnel from the Dalek's latest weapon making even the slightest movement unbearably painful. "To live to see such a day," He said softly, taking in another slow breath, "To live no more after."

It was tempting. To just die here. Moments after his people's destruction, seconds after the end of the Daleks… but he still had more life in him. Surely, something good could, would, must come after this day. Someone had promised him…that nice ginger haired woman in Barcelona…she'd promised him that she would see him on the other side. Somewhere, that woman, Donna, was waiting for him.

He struggled to the console, shuddering from cold, and ordered the TARDIS to Earth.

He felt the burning from the inside of his hearts, the pounding inside his brain and finally let himself scream as he was enveloped in the gold of regeneration energy. The fire erased him, rippling over his body, and built a new form for his heavy mind.

The new Doctor gasped, dropping to the floor. After a moment, he made it to his feet and flung back the TARDIS doors. Everything in London—for that of course was where he landed—was covered in the clean white fluff of snow and he breathed in deep. Clean. He wanted to feel that way too, to pick up handful of this pure substance and ram it into his eyes and purge them of all that he'd seen and fill his ears with the beautiful silence until all the screams and memories were voiceless and void.

"New man," He laughed bitterly, "same mind… hopeless case, I am."

"Oh my god!" A shrill voice broke out, ruining the solitude. A human girl, dressed in a worn leather coat and oversized boots, raced to him. "It is blood, isn't it? Oh my god!"

"Eh now," he batted her hands away, still trying to adjust to the sound of his voice, "I'm fine. So you can take your grubby little hands…"

"And what?" The teen stared up at him defiantly.

He looked down at her. The girl was a little heavy for her height and age and she wore a little too much makeup. Her mascara was a bit faded on her cheeks like she had been crying not too long ago. He noticed that her outfit clashed, not in style but quality, as if her Mum had bought her clothes for school but she'd picked a jacket and boots out of a rubbish heap…. Something about her face was so familiar.

It was her.

Her hair was all the wrong color, a sad dyed blond-shade, but it was her. The girl was Donna.

"What?" She demanded, hands on hip, scowling. "Eyes!"

"What?"

"I saw you, cowboy." She glared, tucking her jacket around her body.

"What?" He repeated, still staring at her face. It took the Doctor a few seconds to follow her train of thought. He stepped back, trying not to laugh outright. "Rude little thing like you…? You're just a child…I'm not from the 51st century!"

"What?" Donna looked up at him, confused.

"Not important." He replied brusquely. Brusque. This incarnation was brusque. "What's important is that…you were _right_." He smiled, realizing that the younger Donna had no idea what he was talking about, "You did see me on the other side. All that time in the War, I thought, that woman had to be right, I'll get through this—even though I had no idea if you'd been lying or not—and here we are. Isn't that fantastic?"

"Is this some sort of joke? Did Nerys put you up to this? Oh. This has Nerys written all over it." She looked at him, frowning, "Did you get your holidays mixed, mate? This is Christmas Eve, not Halloween…"

"I know, I know." His accent sounded so weird in his own ears.

"Are you alright?" She put a hand to his bloodied chest, "Is that real blood?"

"Yes, Donna." He took her hand in his and for some reason, it felt right. "Don't be frightened."

She stared up at him, her eyes wide. "I'm not frightened. I'm not frightened of anything, sunshine."

"That's good, 'cause its real blood."

"Did you kill someone?" She stepped backwards.

"…I was in a war."

"A war? In the middle of London?"

He laughed shortly, "No. Far away, Donna. It's over now. I ended it."

Donna stared at him wide-eyed before flipping her peroxide-ruined hair over her shoulder and shrugging. "Are you daft?"

"Maybe," He grinned cheekily, glad to be able to smile for the first time in way too long. It felt good. He felt like the Doctor again, not like a weapon in a war. "Maybe. New body. I could be anything…don't know yet."

"You're daft." She confirmed.

"Fine, I'm daft." He bent forward, "How's my face? Handsome?"

"Not really."

"Big nose…and ears…" His hands roamed his face, checking to make sure he had all his facial features. "Ah well. I'm sure it is a fine intelligent face. Always is."

"Should I call the police?" Donna asked, still staring at the blood on his tattered clothing. "I should call the police."

"Police Box over there." He nodded to the TARDIS behind him.

Slowly, she walked over the blue box and pulled the door open. He watched her in the doorway, her body stiffening and smiled.

"No way!" She whirled on her heel, staring at him, "It's…bigger inside."

"Really, hadn't noticed." He bounced on his heels before zipping inside. "Welcome to my TARDIS—Time and Relative Dimensions in Space. It's a time machine, space-ship and home combined. Sort of a three-in-one all-purpose vehicle. What do you think of that, Donna?"

Donna blinked. "I dunno. It's a spaceship?"

He added helpfully, "The TARDIS."

"You have a spaceship? Who are you…James Bond?"

"My name is the Doctor."

"Donna," She stepped forward hesitantly, "Donna Noble."

"I know."

"…How do you know?"

He leaned forward conspiratorially, whispering, "I'm an alien."

"No way!" She bit her bottom lip, staring at him, "A proper alien? A proper rocket-box? It's not a hoax…? It's gotta be a hoax, right?"

"Well, if you can't believe you own eyes…what does that leave?"

Donna leaned against the TARDIS's doorway, rubbing at her face, "This has nothing to do with Nerys, does it?"

"No." He frowned, "_Who_ is this Nerys?"

"Just a mate. Sort of." She glanced up at him, her fingers flickering as she mentally ticked off the new information. It was always wonderful for the Doctor to watch a mind being opened to the possibilities of impossibilities. "And that's proper blood and you were in a proper war…"

"Are you thick or what?"

"I am not!" She gasped and prepared to slap him.

He snatched her hand and held it. She reminded him a little of Ace, feisty and independent but still someone who care about people. That meant that she was someone special. "Fantastic…So, Donna…you want to come? Anywhere… the whole galaxy, all of time and space, pick an adventure and run."

She stared into his eyes, silent.

"Travel with me in a police-box?"

"I'll have to pack."

"Pack?"

"We don't have time to pack?" She stepped into the snow, putting her hands in her pockets, "Willy's just down the street. You'll need a new jacket anyway. Everyone needs a good jacket, that's what my Dad says."

"Well," He paused, crossing his arms and finding that he liked the feel of his arms crossed. He'd have to remember that for this regeneration. "I could use some socks."

She smiled brightly up at him. "C'mon then, Martian boy. Shopping!"

* * *

The door flung back, scattering too bright light across her bedroom. The woman sat up, one hand fumbling for her weapon on her night-stand. A second later, she realized it was only her sister.

"Eve! It's in the middle of the night."

"We are in the TARDIS. Night is relative." Eve replied flatly, her clipboard in her hands, as it was perpetually. "We have a problem."

"Really?" She sank back into her bed, replacing the gun on the table.

"Yes."

"And…?"

"Jenny, we missed one."

"Eve…" She tossed a pillow at her younger sister, "Come back when you feel like speaking more than a few words at a time."

"Father's eighth incarnation. He managed to escape Barcelona with knowledge of her. It's likely that it is just a matter of time before…"

"It can wait."

"But… the time stream."

"It can wait."

"But, Jenny—"

"Let them have their fun. We'll pick them up in the morning."

"But that could be years for them. We have to…"

"In the morning. Dismissed." Jenny turned and rolled back over in bed. Eve quietly shut the door.

Jenny, the Doctor's daughter, had quite enough of wiping people's minds for one day. It could wait until morning…or a few years…one little chance meeting wouldn't change anything…

_The End_

* * *

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I hope you had fun. I appreciate everyone's reviews. If you are interested in how Jenny ended up being the "villain" here, you can take a look at my other DW story.


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